An Unconventional Grah-Zeymahzin
by Chatterchot
Summary: After saving Skyrim from Alduin, Harkon, Miraak, and itself, our hero finds a new threat to counter. And fails. He wakes up in a familiar place with a bunch of Stormcloaks and a horse thief. So he tries again. And fails. Finally, after so many failings, his allies have turned… unconventional. How will Skyrim fair with two dragonborn bent on taking over all of Tamriel?
1. Chapter 1

**No beta.**

* * *

Deep in the twisting, foul recesses of Hermaeus Mora's daedric realm, a lone man wearing dark leather robes and a mask of entwined bronze tentacles paced before an audience of eldritch beings. The oozing black sea surrounding the abominable gathering surged with disgusting inky tendrils that occasionally lashed up to snap at the books floating by in the tormented parody of a library the figures stood in. The lone man paced back and forth on the cracked stone of fossilized papers that made up the floor of this place, metal boots thumping as he prowled.

Miraak considered his followers, paltry though they were. Four seekers were present, the lieutenants of his small army in this realm, their ragged, thick cloaks and slender tentacles shifting in non-existent wind as they floated, with deadened eyes seeming to follow him without any movement. His reach was much farther on Mundus, and even included some willing followers who'd come to him for power and reach of their own. Miraak was under no illusions, though—he knew the vast majority of his support he'd made himself with his own powers, and would turn on him if given the chance. It was a good thing he'd never give them that chance.

The first dragonborn came to a stop in his pacing, standing before the beings, ready to begin his speech.

"The time comes soon when…" Miraak felt a shift in the fabric of Apocrypha directly behind him, and turned to investigate. "What?" But there was nothing behind him. The first dragonborn felt his hackles raise. Something wasn't right. He could feel the presence of another dragon, but it was far too soon for the last dragonborn. Alduin had only returned earlier that morning, there was no way they could be here this fast. He hadn't even sent his cultists after them yet!

He quickly revised his opinion when an arrow shot out of a shadow, quickly followed by another. A third arrow appeared before the first one hit—a pained hissing noise to his right revealed the target—and the first dragonborn finally reacted, shooting a lightning bolt at the shadow that seemed to be attacking his seekers, two more of which died as the arrows fell.

As he moved to investigate, Sahrotaar landed behind him with a rush of wind and a thump. The huge dragon was a comforting presence behind him, one of three who he had broken to serve him, whose wills were his own and only his own. The dragon would dissuade a rear attack as he searched for the source of the violence.

A careful inspection of the corner revealed no hidden assailant, and a fourth and a fifth arrow from another corner showed why. These arrows too found their targets; one felling his last seeker, and one burying itself up to the fletching in his dragon's eye, instantly killing the beast as it penetrated to the brain.

Irritated by the loss of one of the few dragons that had sold its soul to his master and more than a little unnerved, Miraak shouted and faded into etherealness. While he didn't doubt his own power, there was only so much one could do to defend against such an attack. "Come out, assassin, I know you are there."

A flash of white appeared from the corner in front of him, which revealed itself to be a somewhat maniacal grin, sported from the face of a male dark-furred Khajiit, who seemed to be wearing a mismatch of Imperial and Stormcloak leather and chainmail. "Hello, Miraak," the cat spoke in unaccented Nordic, "fancy meeting you here."

Miraak's eyes narrowed behind his mask. Against all odds, it was the last dragonborn. "Who are you to dare set—"

"Foot here? I have no idea of the true power a dragonborn can wield?" The cat's grin didn't waver. "_Mul Qah Diiv_!" Miraak felt his eyes widen as the glowing armor encased the Khajiit. How…?! "You were going to grandstand a bit more before jumping on your dragon and flying off, letting your seekers kill me in this realm, sending me back to Solstheim with a headache and a quest?"

Miraak glanced at the corpse of Sahrotaar, which chose that moment to begin disintegrating. He could feel the soul getting caught between the two dragonborn, and he gave it a mental tug to force it in his direction. His eyes widened further as the soul was yanked out of his grip and absorbed into the other dragonborn.

"It takes a strong will to command a dragon's soul." The irritating _kaaz_ continued to grin at him. "Perhaps you aren't as powerful as you think."

And his eyes were back to narrowing. "How dare—"

"Hey," the cat interrupted again, "fire no more arrows than you can dodge." The _kaaz_ continued before he could respond. "As much as I'd love to stand here bantering at you until your feim fades, I'd rather get going before—"

"What," a slow drawl came reverberating from the sky as a huge frog's eye opened, "is… going on here?"

"Shit!" That damn grin finally faded. "I'll explain later, for now, you're coming with me."

And before Miraak could do more than blink, the last dragonborn shouted, "Sah Oblaan!" at him, and he felt himself fade back into corporeality. Then the cat used one hand to grab his wrist and tug him forward, while the other braced against his chest. The first dragonborn then felt something huge being forced into his soul—it almost felt like absorbing a dragon soul, but magnified a hundred times—leaving him feeling vaguely violated, but oddly powerful. Then, without wasting a single bit of motion or time, the cat took the hand that was on his chest and grabbed the black book that was laying in front of where he must have first appeared, opening it and shoving Miraak's captured hand onto the page.

Hermaeus blinked his huge eye as the two dragonborn vanished from his realm. It would take him three days of scrying this unforeseen event to realize that all of his plans needed to be changed.

Miraak slowly came to in what appeared to be a sheltered valley in northern Solstheim. The sky was a wonderful shade of blue he'd not personally seen for so long, the air was cold and crisp and refreshing, and the snow! He wasn't sure where exactly he was, but he supposed it didn't matter. He was out. The sky wasn't sickly green, the ground wasn't made of books. He was out. After 4000 years. He was out.

-0-

"Finally awake, I see."

And there was that damned cat. Leaning against a rock, his metal armor scraping the surface producing a nearly foreign sound to the long-imprisoned dragonborn.

He slowly sat up and glared at the Khajiit through his mask. Though the cat might not be able to see Miraak's face, he certainly acted like he could in that moment.

"You could say 'thank you', you know."

Miraak snorted. As if he should thank the interloper for killing his followers! "I was almost free."

"Right. Sure." The cat sounded skeptical. "Hermy totally didn't know what you were up to and didn't have fifteen contingency plans in place already."

The first dragonborn growled, but didn't push the topic. He was out—that's what mattered—and now he was dealing with an annoying, and mysteriously powerful, Khajiit. "You speak strangely."

"Well, I'm a strange person." The cat hummed, oblivious to the look of contempt Miraak was giving him behind his mask. "I suppose I should tell you my name. I don't really remember it, but you can call me Hunseul. Or Hun!" Hunseul practically chirped the last sentence.

Hero of eternity? Under normal circumstances, Miraak might mock such a strange name. It really ought to be Hunul—_Hunseul_ was a title—but the first dragonborn wasn't going to nitpick the butchering of the sacred language. For now, at least. He was wary of the power this being might hold. He'd never heard a shout like the one the cat had used to dispel his own shout. And then there was…

"What did you do to me?"

"I shoved 100 dragon souls into you so you'd have the power to leave Apocrypha."

"What?"

Hun shrugged. "I would have asked first, but we were out of time." He hummed again. "Speaking of, we should probably get going. I don't know how long it'll take 'ol Hermy to realize we're not within his tentacly grasp anymore and send troops after us, and you've already been out for three hours."

And with that, Miraak bolted to his feet. "WHAT?!"

Hun cocked his head. "You might want to lay back down. You're going to spend the next few hours of your life asleep as I move us to a safer place back on Skyrim. I'll probably destroy the shrines around the stones, too, just to cover our tracks."

This _kaaz_! Not only was the cat threatening to kidnap him, he wanted to destroy all Miraak had worked for in the past 4000 years! The first dragonborn took a step back, hand reaching behind his back to where his staff was (luckily) still holstered. "I think not. I will make my own way from here."

Hun sighed, casting his gaze to the sky. "I don't mean to take away your freedom right after you've regained it, but I'm not done talking to you, and here isn't the place." The cat looked back up at him. "I feel sorry for your situation, so I'll give you a choice." He held out his hand. "Come with me."

Some choice. Miraak's eyes narrowed and he drew his staff. "No."

Hun sighed and withdrew his hand. "Fine. _Dinok Hahnu Ul_!"

-0-

Miraak woke for the second time, this time indoors. He was also on a bed, which, after so long in Apocrypha, felt decidedly odd. Beyond the bed, a wooden floor and four walls barred off the wilderness he could hear from outside the door to one side, and a slightly dilapidated, but much patched roof kept out the elements. The room itself was mostly bare, the main feature being the bed and a nearby fireplace that had an annoyingly familiar Khajiit leaning against it.

"I guess I should apologize for kidnapping you," Hunseul spoke up when he saw Miraak move, "I wasn't expecting you to fight me on this, to be honest."

Miraak glared. "Was it truly necessary to revive me in Solstheim?"

The cat sighed. "I didn't want to, but I really didn't want you to wake up mid-flight, and it's a bad idea to use that shout on a sleeping target. It tends to kill them." The _kaaz_ gestured to a small end table next to the bed, which held a bowl of steaming water with clumps of meat and potatoes floating in it. "I brought you some food. I know it's been awhile since you've eaten."

Miraak slowly sat up on the bed and stared at the cat.

After a few moments of silence, Hun cracked. "Okay, how about this? You eat, and I'll talk."

After another moment of due consideration, Miraak nodded. "You are strange, even for a _kaaz_."

"I'm a Khajiit?" The cat looked down at his clawed hands in surprise. "Huh. So I am." He then stuck one of those hands down his pants. "And a male this time. That's nice." Then a look of shock came over his face. "Oh. That's not what I was expecting." He glanced back up at Miraak's blank mask and took his hand out of his pants. "Sorry," he explained, "I've never been a male Khajiit before. I've been a female one twice, though. The second time I was an Alfiq." He grinned at the memory. "Man, wasn't Skyrim surprised when their savior was a house cat! Couldn't ride worth beans, but I could still shout."

Miraak stared.

Hun blinked. "I swear I'm not worshiping Sheogorath. I've talked to him at length on several occasions, but I don't follow him." He gestured to the bowl of… soup? on the end table. "It's not poisoned. Or drugged. It's just clam soup. I would have made chowder, but I didn't have any butter… or milk."

Though the first dragonborn was still somewhat dubious, it was true that he hadn't eaten in over 4000 years, and was curious. So, with a mildly put-upon sigh, Miraak reached up and lifted the mask over his face, setting the heavy head piece on the bed next to him. He couldn't resist running a single gloved hand over his face then, as if to reassure himself he still had one.

He glanced up to Hun, who was taking in his revealed features with interest. The cat noticed him looking and nodded to the bowl again.

Long used to the feeling of being watched, the first dragonborn scooted the table in front of himself and lifted the spoon, finally taking a sip of the soup. And divines if it wasn't the best thing he could ever remember eating. Not that there was much competition. Struggling to keep his face neutral as a spike of pain shot through his jaw at his mouth working again, Miraak glanced back up at Hunseul. "It is palatable."

The cat smirked in an oddly fond manner. The expression gave Miraak pause. It was as if the cat knew him and his mannerisms. This wasn't the first time this had happened in the short time the _kaaz_ had shown up so abruptly, and that along with the open nature of his fellow dovahii face was starting to set him on edge.

"Well, I guess I owe you a story then, hmm?" Hun moved off to the far end of the room and grabbed a stool, carrying it back over to him and sitting down a comfortable distance away.

"The first thing I can remember is waking up on a cart with a bunch of Stormcloaks. I could still remember my name then, and I know I was a nord male, but before that… It's all gone now. Anyway, we get to the chopping block…" Hun continued for a while, describing his exploits and the twists and turns that came from defying destiny and defeating the world eater.

"And then there was Harkon. Boy, what a trip that was. He even offered to make me a vampire lord. I turned him down… that time, at least." As Hun detailed that story, Miraak found himself both amused and interested by the vampires' thirst for power, and their means of attempting to achieve it.

"And then there was you." The next tale was disturbing for Miraak, as it involved events he'd only ever planned, and ended with his own downfall, literally stabbed through the back by his previous master.

"After that, I aided in the civil war. Stormcloaks, of course," Hun said, rolling his eyes, "Divines, I was so naive. We won. Against the tiny contingent of the empire, at least. We had maybe a month or two to celebrate before the Thalmor dropped the hammer and invaded. They couldn't allow us to get away with rebelling, you know? Had to set an example."

Of course. Miraak nodded, the elves' tactic making perfect sense to him.

"It was a slaughter. Any man, or woman, who had even hinted at having anything to do with the rebellion was put to death publicly. Even the children weren't spared. It took them awhile, but they eventually caught me. I remember giving one last parting shot to them before my head rolled off my shoulders. Then I woke up on a cart with a bunch of Stormcloaks.

"I couldn't believe it. I was alive! Surely this was divine intervention—I had been given a second chance, and I was going to take it. I did things almost exactly the same that time, except I fought for the empire in the war. Oh, it chafed having to take orders from my enemy, but at least I could assure myself that it was for the greater good. At least, until we won. And the Thalmor called for my death. I was too powerful, you see—too great a wildcard. They couldn't let me live.

"This time though, I had a great many benefactors. Almost no one, not even the higher ups in the empire, truly wanted to see the hero of Skyrim die. I was able to escape on a boat into the northern waters. I used my thu'um to melt and freeze ice flows to allow myself to pass, and to stop anyone from pursuing me.

"It was there that I started experimenting with the Voice. I needed a way to gather food, and find north on a cloudy day, and a way to melt small bits of ice without setting my boat on fire so I could get water to drink, and I didn't know any magic beyond healing myself and throwing the occasional fireball. I didn't know much of the language, but I knew the shouts. I mixed and matched whatever I could figure might work together, and meditated on how they might blend to make a greater meaning.

"They didn't always work—certainly not the first time, and not all of them—but enough did that I became fascinated with the concept of creating entirely new shouts. Just how far could I push my gift? How much could I change the world with Voice alone?"

Hun shook his head, chuckling. "Anyway, I eventually landed in Highrock. There I learned to respect and even practice magic, while I let my Voice stay silent in fear of attracting the Thalmor to my new life. I lived to the ripe old age of 97 where I passed peacefully in my sleep. Again, I woke up in a cart full of Stormcloaks.

"What went wrong that time? I wondered. Was it because I ran from the Thalmor? Should I have stayed and fought like a true Nord? I think I had actually been an Imperial that time, so perhaps not. Oh, I remember what I was in my third life! I was a Breton woman. Boy, did that take getting used to!

"By this point, I had figured a few things out. Whenever I 'reset' back to the cart, I would be a new race, gender and age, but I would retain all of my skills and knowledge from my previous lives. And dragon souls, for some reason. I could also never remember what happened before I ended up on the cart, though I never really tried that hard.

"This time around, I stayed low key—I waited until Alduin was alone before I fought him and drove him to Sovngarde, then I used Bend Will to make a dragon take me there, where I simply killed him again. I snuck into castle Volkihar and killed every single vampire I could find. Then I came to Solstheim, fought my way through your temple, read the black book, and killed you. I admit though, that was a harder fight than the vampires; neither of us were really prepared for the fight—we kinda caught each other off guard—it eventually devolved into a fistfight with some shouting.

"Anyway, once I had solved all the pressing issues, I left Skyrim to decide its own fate and joined the greybeards. I learned _Dovahzul_, and spoke it fluently. I meditated on the words daily, and would often travel up to the throat of the world to experiment with Paarthurnax. I was 150 or so when the world below reached up to us. The Thalmor came to disband the ancient order. I took exception to that."

Hun laughed. "We held out for a few months, until we were starved out. There were only four of us—myself, Paarthurnax, another elder, and a new recruit—but without Ivarstead supplying us, we didn't last long. Eventually, the Thalmor gave one last push. I asked Paarthurnax to carry the others to safety while I held the invaders off. I gave it my best, but there were so many of them, and I was weak from starvation…"

Hun paused for a moment, remembering, before letting loose a snort. "When I woke up next, I was an Altmer. An Altmer! I was disgusted for awhile, before I figured I might as well take advantage of it. After taking care of the main problems of Skyrim, I joined up with the Thalmor. It took a very long time to earn enough trust to advance—at least a hundred years—but I did, eventually. And I got high enough to learn just what those… elves… were planning. I already knew that one of their goals was to enslave all other races, but this…

"They want to destroy the world. To 'return all of Nirn to Aetherius', as if that was any different!" The last dragonborn's hands turned to fists. "They would force their ideas on the world… They would make that choice for everyone. Shouldn't we have the right to choose our own destiny?"

Miraak watched the other _Dovah_ curiously. This was the first hint of real rage he'd seen, and it was oddly comforting to see something familiar in the foreignly flippant cat. However, it was not to last.

Hun took a deep breath, fists slowly uncurling. "Needless to say, I was not pleased by this idea. At last I figured out what I needed to do. I did my best to stealthily sabotage their operations, but in the end, I was caught.

"I don't remember what I woke up next as, but I knew what I wanted to learn. I knew that nothing I did would really matter after the reset, so I became both a nightingale and the listener for the dark brotherhood. I even assassinated the emperor! With these new skills under my belt, and all the knowledge of the inner workings of the Thalmor in hand, I set out to slay them all."

Hun chuckled. "It didn't go so well. I tried, over the course of so many lives, to destroy the Thalmor. Each time, I failed. I was caught, or betrayed, or I just miscalculated." The cat paused for a moment, seeming to consider the other dragonborn before continuing. "Eventually, I gave up. I decided that I needed a new plan, and I took a few lives off to better myself and consider what I should do."

Hun smiled. "Oh the places I went… I set out to explore the world, and I did my damnedest to see each and every corner of it. I've stood on the adamantine tower, sailed the sea of ghosts, peered into the heart of the red mountain. I even set foot on the shores of old Atmora. I tried to find the Nerevarine a few times, but it never panned out. I even searched Akavir from top to bottom. Wherever that guy went, he's long gone." Hun hummed, wistful. "I even achieved CHIM once, but it just made things worse so I gave it up."

Miraak started at that last one, but before he could ask any questions, Hun had moved on.

"Eventually, though, it was time to come home. This time, after having witnessed so much of what this world had to offer, I was determined to win. I took the fight to the Thalmor once again. This time, I finally succeeded. But then… well, the power vacuum was too much for Tamriel, and it tore itself apart in a bloody continent wide war. Eventually, from the decimated population, a new faction arose. They called themselves the 'Heralds of the Fifth Era', or the Heralds for short. Gods, they were worse than the Thalmor. I won't get into details, but needless to say, this was not the outcome that I wanted."

Hun shook his head. "It was then I learned that, if I wanted to destroy the one faction keeping Tamriel together, I needed something to replace it. I started with the conventional. I gathered fame and fortune, and tried to unite the Empire and Skyrim against the Thalmor, but I just don't have the head for that kind of political maneuvering, and everything fell apart.

"After trying that for a few lives, I gave up and turned to the unconventional. I tried parlaying with Alduin, but he wouldn't hear of it. I turned to Harkon, became a vampire, and helped him destroy the sun. This only succeeded in uniting the world against us. Now I've turned to you. Miraak, I have always and still do consider you to be my most worthy adversary. You are clever and crafty, and far better at politics than I could ever be." Though the words were praiseful, they were stated as mere facts, something which Miraak could appreciate.

Hun's mouth gave a twitch. "I have to admit, this isn't the first time I've experimented with… putting you in play. The life before this one, I simply let you out of Apocrypha, and left you to your own devices. It took a few months, but you eventually conquered all of Solstheim and set your sights on Skyrim. Unfortunately, everyone else saw your blatant enslavement of the people, and decided to go to war. Even the Thalmor stepped in—though I think they just saw an opportunity to take part of the country with that move. They won, but not before suffering heavy losses.

"You were captured alive, amazingly enough, and I snuck into the prison you were held in to talk to you. You were… insane. Stark raving mad. Sheo had a full grasp over your mind, and it took a trip to Solstheim to figure out why. I was able to retrieve an obscure device I'd heard about in my travels and measure the fabric of reality on that island. As it turns out, the veil between Mundus and Oblivion, especially Apocrypha, is exceptionally weak there—and the shrines around the stones only weakened it further—and even though you left Hermy's realm in body, he still had a powerful hold over your mind.

"That's why we had to leave Solstheim so abruptly. I didn't want Hermy to try to claw his way back into your mind." Hun nodded. "So that's where we are now."

By this point, Miraak had stopped eating to fully concentrate on the story Hun was telling, and as the cat paused, the first dragonborn realized that the soup had gone cold.

"Here, let me…" Hun leaned over from his chair and slid his hands around the bowl, staring at it for a few moments before retreating. "You may want to stir that a bit first."

Eyes narrowing slightly, Miraak did so, and noticed the small wisps of steam rising from the bowl once more. He put the filled spoon up to his lips once more and found the soup to be the perfect temperature—almost-too-hot-but-not-quite. That, more than anything, lent credibility to the crazy cat's crazier story. It had taken Miraak decades to obtain that much control over his magic to do something similar, and that was without distractions.

"How about you finish that off while you think about things? I'll be outside for awhile. Come find me when you're done." He paused and huffed. "Or, you know, don't. It's up to you." The cat made his way to the door and paused to look at Miraak again, who had continued to eat, before slipping out.

Miraak watched the strange Khajiit exit the building and slowly finished his meal in contemplative silence. The past few hours… day? had been incredibly tumultuous. It felt like mere seconds had passed since he was giving his speech to his few followers in Apocrypha, and yet, it also felt like lifetimes. He supposed it hadn't quite sunk in yet that he was out. All those centuries preparing… he thought he'd feel something upon exiting that damned realm, but all he felt was… numb.

Of course, it hadn't been him that had precipitated his expulsion from Hermaeus Mora's realm. In a way, he was almost disappointed that things happened the way they did. All that preparation, voided in a single moment by the whim of a completely unpredictable character. And oh, it rankled to be at the mercy of such a capacious character; even though the cat had given him a way out, Miraak was under no deception that the other _Dovah_ wouldn't be able to strike him down if so called for. But such impotent rage would not help him reach a rational decision.

Finishing with his soup, the first dragonborn leaned back on the bed and looked down at the mask that had been his face for over 4000 years. The extent of his planning had been simply to leave Apocrypha and take over Solstheim. He then planned to assess his situation and go from there. Apparently, in one of Hunseul's previous lives, Miraak had tried to take over Skyrim, so the situation couldn't be that bad. Of course, he'd also apparently been 'blessed' by Sheogorath at the time, so perhaps it would be best for him to lay low until he figured things out.

Miraak wasn't sure what to make of the last dragonborn. Certainly, he'd never imagined this situation, if indeed it was true. He wasn't entirely sure of Hun's honesty yet—he'd have to question the cat further—but there were a few marks in his favor. First, the Khajiit seemed to know every detail of his previous plans for Solstheim, and seemed to be quite familiar with Miraak himself. Next, the cat was strangely powerful—far stronger than his age would imply—and knew shouts that he had never heard of before. And Miraak had spent 4000 years looking through an infinite library with an omniscient librarian.

And then there was the _dovahii_ personality. Dragons were meant to be conquerors. Powerful and confident, the winged children of Akatosh were meant to rule the world, and it troubled Miraak to no end to see one of his own kind with such a passive attitude. Though, as he contemplated Hun's situation more, he supposed he could see where it came from. Doing everything over and over again, only to have it all be undone with his own death… Miraak would reason that anyone would have difficulty putting forth any sort of serious attitude.

Whatever his own opinion on the last dragonborn, Miraak had to admit that he was both powerful and knowledgeable, and didn't seem at all opposed to working with him. And it was true that, even though the dragon priest had kept up with the global developments of Nirn during his incarceration, he really wasn't from modern Skyrim, and thus didn't know yet how to present himself properly. He highly doubted the bearing of his previous life would be acceptable now, as an unknown.

The first dragonborn sighed, grabbing his mask and putting it back on. Well, it wasn't as if he had anywhere else to be right now, and as much as he hated to admit it, he needed an ally in this new world. However unconventional he may be.

* * *

_Sah Oblaan_ = Phantom End

_Dinok Hahnu Ul_ = Death Dream Eternity

_Kaaz_ = Cat/Khajiit

_Dovahii_ = Dragon's

* * *

**I'm open to constructive criticism, and any spelling or grammar mistakes you point out will be corrected.**

**I have 7 chapters of this written and I'll be updating every Thursday until I run out. Then things will slow down. I'm also writing a novel and dabbling in other things while lifeing right now, so don't expect too much.**

**With regards to pairings and the like; Miraak is Aromantic Asexual, and Hunseul is Aromantic Pansexual. This might come up at some point, but neither of them are quite capable of 'normal' romance anymore****—they're both cynical little shits right now in their own special ways, and while love might be a thing for them, romance won't. If you're one of those odd balls who tends to confuse romance with sex with love, I'd suggest watching or reading Good Omens (again).  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**No Beta.**

* * *

Miraak's first steps out into Skyrim proper were quite something. True, he had woken briefly in Solstheim, but he'd been rather… preoccupied at that time.

A quick survey told him he was on the eastern edge of Hjaalmarch, if memory served. With a combination of the half submerged land, the mountains in the distance, and the abundant dragonflies darting around, he could be nowhere else in Skyrim. He was in the northern part of the marsh, where small ice floes clogged up the delta and beached on the dark sand, scattered like diamonds on a black canvas.

It took a bit of searching to locate the last dragonborn, as the cat had traveled far enough northeast to be out of sight, but Miraak found that he could sense the general direction of the other _dovahkiin_ by 'feeling' him out with his own _dovahsil_.

When he finally did track down the errant cat, the last dragonborn was mining out rocks in a small query, sounding out a sharp clink! with every strike of the pick. Despite what Miraak had planned out and intended to ask, what came out was, "What are you doing?"

Hun glanced up from his work and grinned. "Mining."

Miraak stared at him, not willing to dignify that answer with a question.

"I suppose you want to know why?" At Miraak's slow nod, he explained, "I'm going to build a house here. Well, I need to get permission from the Jarl first, and some money to buy the land, but that's not too hard to do. I always build my house here. I just thought I'd get some of the materials ready first." Sighing, the cat set the pick aside. "So, have you reached a decision yet?"

Miraak closed his eyes behind his mask and begged the gods he no longer followed for patience. "Perhaps. I have questions."

Hun knelt by the pile of rocks he'd made and began sorting through them. "I'll try to have answers."

Miraak stared down at the cat. "What do you want from me?"

"Oh, I guess I never got to the point of that story, did I?" Hun hummed as he considered a rock from several angles, apparently found it unworthy, and threw it over a nearby ledge. "I was kinda hoping we could take over the world together, actually. If that doesn't work for you, I won't stand in your way when you go it alone."

Miraak blinked. He supposed that might follow the logic of the earlier conversation, but he really couldn't see the cat sitting on any sort of throne. "Even if I enslave the world's population?"

Hun sighed. "I won't stop you, but I definitely won't help you. Though, that's still better than what the Thalmor and the Heralds have planned. Will have planned, in the case of the Heralds. Or maybe have planned—I haven't been able to figure out how old their organization is."

"What did the Heralds have planned?" Miraak asked. The conversation was threatening to get off topic, but the first dragonborn was too curious to leave it alone. There was a reason he'd sought out the daedric god of knowledge, after all.

"They had made pacts with several daedric princes, Molag Bal chiefly, that in return for the power to dominate Nirn, they would turn the state religion to daedra worship." Hun shuddered. "They were actually having a much easier time than the Thalmor did. They went about it in a very crafty way—their leader was very charismatic, and only allowed her most well spoken followers to advance. The whole daedra worship thing was kept on the down low, for the most part. The first part of their campaign involved naysaying the divines. 'Why would they have let this awful war happen if they were really looking out for us?' "

"That does not sound as terrible as ending the world," Miraak put in, interested in the cat's response.

Hun laughed. "And perhaps it wouldn't be, if they had stopped there. As it were, though, once their hold was secure, they began encouraging people to sign their souls over to the princes for power. Didn't matter which prince—though they heavily encouraged specific ones—so long as you had a prince to belong to, you were allowed to live 'free'. If you didn't make a pact, you'd be taxed into slavery, often with someone who might force you to serve their god instead.

"I mean, I don't mind that people sign their own souls over to the princes—that's their prerogative—but when you force others to do so? That's when you cross a line." Hun spat at the dirt and glared for a moment before his face relaxed into his normal, vaguely cheerful facade once more. "Did you have any other questions?"

Miraak paused, considering the Khajiit as he seemed to finish with the pile and shoved the remaining stones into a bigger pile out of the way. "You would help me conquer Tamriel?"

Hun turned and leaned against the rock wall he'd been mining. "Well, I have two conditions." At Miraak's nod, he continued. "One, I would need to be your equal in this. We could be the two dragon emperors of Tamriel, but I wouldn't settle for being a mere underling."

Miraak smiled behind his mask. As annoying as it may be for him to share the throne, as it were, it was actually relieving at this point to hear such a familiarly dragonic statement from the cat. He'd begun to wonder if there was something terribly wrong with his fellow _Dovah_. "And your second condition?"

"Our rule has to be benevolent. By which I mean, our followers have to come to us willingly. That means no bending wills with shouts. Also, no telling people who or what to worship. I've seen too much chaos come of that to believe it to be at all worth it. Let them revere a rock, if they want."

Miraak blinked. "If you do not force the masses to follow you, how will you gain a following?"

Hun grinned. "You leave that part to me. If there's one part of statecraft I'm good at, it's that."

The first dragonborn was dubious, but he supposed that if the cat failed in that regard, he could simply strike out on his own once he was used to the politics of the region. The religion aspect, however… "I would rather the masses worship us." Miraak, specifically, but he supposed Hunseul would receive a portion of that, as well.

At that, Hun smirked. "Trust me, we do this right, and they'll worship us whether or not we want them to. Think of it—the second coming of Talos."

If they didn't worship him, it mattered little. He could always use fear instead. "Then we have an accord."

Hun's features brightened as Miraak held out his right hand, and he pushed off from the wall, ears pricked forward. He looked almost as if he wanted to ask if Miraak was sure, but didn't want to chance him saying 'no'.

"I do have one more question," the first dragonborn said after their hands had clasped and let go, "You said we flew here."

Hun froze for a second before relaxing. "Oh?"

Interesting reaction. "Yes. And yet, Alduin had only been awake for a few hours when you… acquired me." Hun's lips twitched at the other dragonborn's phrasing. "As it takes a few hours to fly from Skyrim to Solstheim, you must have left as soon as you could have, leaving no time or opportunity for you to obtain a mount." By this point, Hun was eyeing him apprehensively. "So, my question is, how did you fly to and from Solstheim in the space of a few hours without using a dragon?"

Hun bit his lip, which for a Khajiit, was an incredibly exaggerated gesture. "You are a sharp one, aren't you?" He sighed. "I like you, Miraak, but I don't trust you. Yet. When or if the day comes that I do, I will answer that question in full and exacting detail."

Miraak narrowed his eyes behind his mask. "In my experience, it is unwise to start an alliance with a denial of truth."

Hun gave him an annoyed glare. "That isn't something I'm going to tell you for a long time. Now, I can teach you some other shouts, if you'd like."

"So it is a shout."

The last dragonborn rolled his eyes and, in lieu of an actual response, whispered a few words onto the ground. He walked back to his pile of rocks (which was oddly large, given the amount of time the cat had had to mine), letting Miraak absorb the words of power; _Uth Gol Wahl_.

"Shout that wherever you want, and as long as you have the materials on hand, it'll build whatever structure you have in your mind's eye," Hun said, "Thought you might like that one, considering your shrines never seem to get done." Then it was Miraak's turn to glare. "Here, let me demonstrate." The cat focused on a large spot of flat dirt.

"_Uth... Gol Wahl_!"

Miraak watched in fascination as the pile of stones streamed through the air to lay down what he believed to be the foundation of the house Hun had been talking about before. He glanced to the cat, who seemed to be concentrating hard with his eyes closed.

A few minutes later, the last dragonborn opened his eyes and looked over to him. "Is that satisfactory?"

Miraak paused for a moment, wondering if Hun was going to give him the knowledge needed to use the shout, but it appeared as if the cat wanted him to ask. Miraak wasn't going to play that game, though, so he nodded instead. He'd just wait and kill a few dragons before meditating.

Hun gave him an amused look, as if he knew what Miraak was thinking, before shrugging. "So, in terms of taking over the world, where should we start?"

The first dragonborn nodded, leaving their standoff behind in lieu of their work. "First, we need a place to work from." He nodded to the foundation. "Then we'll need supplies; inkwells, quills, paper, maps. Things of that nature." Hun nodded. "We need to develop a list of assets. Think about what we have, what we might have, and what we can easily obtain. And then we can plan from there." Intermediary goals, timelines, political landscape, blackmail, bribery… His past as a dragon priest was slowly coming back to Miraak, bringing with it all the memories of maneuverings he'd had to do to gain and maintain his position amongst the cut-throat _Dovah_.

"Hmm, well, we don't have much right now, but I can fairly easily drum up support for us. I've become the leader of each guild here in Skyrim—not all at the same time, mind you—plus, the dragonborn is kinda the national hero. It shouldn't take me more than a day to get the rights to build here, and then a day more to construct a basic house…"

"Can we not use the shack I awoke in?"

"Uhh, the people who live there will be back in a few days."

Miraak stared. "And we cannot evict them?"

Hun rolled his eyes again. "No, Miri, we're good guys now. If we want the support of the people, we need to be nice to them."

The first dragonborn bristled at the nickname. "What did you call me?"

The damn cat grinned. "Miri. It's the first part of your name with an 'e' sound at the end, but I'm going to be writing it with a single 'i' instead of two because I know the improper use of _dovahzul_ runes will piss you off."

"You will not be writing that down!"

"What? You don't want future generations to know your cute nickname?"

Miraak stayed silent, clenching and unclenching his fists. Oh how he wanted to send a lightning bolt at the cat's face. The only reason he didn't was because he knew Hun had killed him several times in his previous lives, and didn't want to challenge the cat until he'd seen him fight something else first.

Hun took in Miraak's silent murderous rage and hummed. "You're a lot of fun to tease, Miraak. You get upset over the tiniest things." He shrugged, pushing off from the wall. "It doesn't matter, anyway—I'll have the house built before the shack owners come home." He began walking away, setting off to the north.

Miraak felt his rage slowly disperse into confusion. "Where are you going?"

Hun called over his shoulder as he strode off. "I need something to cover my face, hands, and tail so I can talk the Jarl into letting me buy land." He paused as Miraak walked over to him. "As much as I love Skyrim, it has its problems. I'd rather not let my persona as the dragonborn be influenced by people's perception of my current race. I've had that kind of trouble before." Hun shook his head. "Once we kill a few dragons, I'll make proper armor out of them. I can make some for you, if you'd like?" Hun ended the statement in a question.

Miraak had never considered making armor out of the remains of a dragon before. It seemed somewhat sacrilegious. He smiled behind his mask, imagining the rage of his previous masters if he had presented them a set of armor made out of the remains of several of their dead brothers. "I will accept this."

Hun snorted. "I bet you will. Anyway, are you coming with me or staying here? I shouldn't be more than an hour."

This would be an excellent opportunity to see the last dragonborn's combat style without engaging him. "I will accompany you."

Hun grinned. "Great! Let's go kill some bandits."

-0-

It was several days later that found Miraak leaning over a desk with a quill in hand, listening to Hunseul list off possible assets.

"I can easily gain the support of the Companions, and the College of Winterhold, and if I need to, the Thieves' Guild. I've got something special in mind for the Dark Brotherhood, but that won't happen for another few months or so…"

Hun waited until Miraak's quill stopped scribbling before continuing.

"There's of course either the Stormcloaks or the Imperials… I'm not sure which cause would help most, then there's the Greybeards and the Blades, neither of which I really like—too caught in their own agendas—but maybe with enough persuasion, they could be convinced to rally to our cause…"

The past few days had been… interesting, to say the least. After appropriating two sets of feature covering gear (Miraak had decided to follow Hun's example, mostly for his eyes, which, after spending so long in Apocrypha, had turned entirely black), the pair of dragonborn had traveled to Morthal, and after completing a series of unrelated tasks, were granted land to build on by the steward. It took another day to actually pay for said land, which Hun got most of the funds for from selling potions and poisons up in Solitude.

It had only taken a day for Hun to build a simple house, to which he promised he'd add to. He'd also shown Miraak a new shout that he used for mining up stone and cutting down trees. He hadn't offered to share his knowledge, and Miraak hadn't asked.

Now the first dragonborn leaned over a simple (though still sturdy) table in the middle of the somewhat small room, drafting up assets for them to consider in their bid for power. Hunseul was leaning against a wall near the door with his bedroll to the side. Miraak's own roll lay at the other end of the room, nearer the fire place with the desk between them for privacy.

"Oh yeah!" Hun said suddenly, "What about your cultists?"

Miraak paused, quill hovering perfectly still over the paper. "I was controlling most of them, but there are a few who came to me, mostly for power, and they may prove to be useful…" He thought for a minute. "Yes… As long as we can get to them soon. They may suspect my return by my absence, but if it stretches for too long, they may lose their faith in me."

"So we need to get a message to them, even if it's to wait for further instructions."

"Yes."

"How long can we wait?"

"This should be done as soon as possible."

Hun hummed. "With the shrines destroyed, Hermy's hold over Solstheim should be too weak for him to do much more than send a monster or two after us." He paused, considering. "Alduin's been awake for long enough for a few dragons to be flying around, so we can catch a quick ride…"

Miraak set his quill aside and flexed his hand, dispelling any cramps before they could form. "Can you not simply fly us there as you did here?"

Hun raised an eyebrow. "I'd rather not knock you out again, and aside from that, there are repercussions to using that shout that I'd rather not deal with more than I have to."

Miraak sighed quietly through his nose. He'd been hoping to wait for the capricious _kaaz_ to slip up and reveal to him the nature of the mysterious shout, but it seemed like Hun simply wasn't going to chance using it. "Very well, we shall spend the rest of the day planning, then move out tomorrow to search for a suitable mount."

Hun nodded in assent, eyes unfocusing once more as he thought about his previous lives. "It's been a week since Aldy attacked Helgen… Oh! Whiterun's gonna be attacked in a few days. When we set out tomorrow, we should head in that direction. It'd be a good way to announce ourselves."

Miraak thought for a moment and nodded. "A public display of power… yes… I agree with that."

Hun rolled his eyes. "Of course you do. We can show up during the attack, slay Mirmulnir, and vanish back into the night. Then we can make for the Eastmarch and grab the dragon there."

The first dragonborn considered the last. "I would rather meet with my followers alone, if you think you can find something to occupy yourself for a day or two." Miraak was no fool. He knew Hunseul did not trust him; either his motivations or his abilities—at least where it came to resisting Mora. Still, this alliance would never work without the both of them being able to divide and conquer.

Hun stared at him for a long moment before shrugging. "I could get us started with the Greybeards… and I suppose I could start spreading our good name by slaying some dragons, if there's time." He seemed to brighten. "Besides, I wanted to get started on our armors—would you prefer heavy or light, by the way?"

Miraak had to blink at the sheer mood whiplash the cat could display at a moment's notice. "Heavy."

"Bone, then." Hun hummed again. "That's good—I prefer the lightweight scales—we'll look different but still match." He nodded to himself. "We need to present a united front for the people of Skyrim, and this could only help that."

The two plotted for a few more hours while the sun made its way across the sky and eventually fell beyond the cliffside city of Solitude.

Eventually, Hun yawned. "Well, I think we got a lot done today. Let's break for the night—We're gonna have to get up early tomorrow if we want to make it to Whiterun before the dragon attacks."

Miraak nodded, giving their drafted plan a final look over before rolling the scroll up and delicately slotting it into place next to its fellows in a fine wooden chest they'd looted from a bandit infested burial hall a few days ago. "I am still curious on how you plan to get from here to Whiterun in just a day without using a dragon." The two turned away from each other to change out of their day-wear.

"Simple," Hun replied through his half-off shirt, "a horse."

Miraak snorted. "No horse could make that journey in a day."

"He's a very special horse." He paused for a moment. "Hey, you don't mind riding with me, do you?"

"Will I have a choice?"

"Well, no, not if we want to get there in time."

"Then why ask?"

"Gee, I just wanted your feelings on the matter… If you find it absolutely abhorrent, we can figure out a different way."

Miraak sighed and turned around as he heard Hun still. "I will be fine."

"Oh good." Hun inspected his bedroll and brushed it out with a hand. "I'll need to spend a few minutes tomorrow convincing him to bear us…"

Miraak, who was in the process of laying down, frowned. "Why?"

Hun winced. "Because I haven't technically met him yet?"

Miraak sighed again. "Do what you must. I am going to sleep."

Without further comment, Hun settled on his own roll and canceled his light spell, casting the room into darkness.

* * *

_Uth Gol Wahl_ = Command World Build

_Dovahsil_ = Dragon soul

Dovahzul = Dragon language

* * *

Bonus scene:

Miraak shifted again. This was his sixth night out of Apocrypha, and he still wasn't having much luck falling asleep. In that thrice-cursed realm, there was no eating, drinking, or sleeping. There wasn't even a need for bathing, though that didn't stop him from wanting to jump into a cold lake the first time he fell into the primordial slug that made up the oozing black ocean of the realm.

He'd had no sleep the first night, nor the second night, and only on the third had his body been tired enough to collapse without his interference. He'd been able to sleep somewhat fitfully every night since, but that didn't make it comfortable.

Hun, by contrast, could fall asleep within seconds of closing his eyes, even, on one occasion, on a solid stone floor in the depths of a dungeon they'd looted.

He shifted again.

"Do I have to come over there and hold you down?"

To his dying day, Miraak would deny to anyone (especially Hun) that he nearly jumped off of his sleeping roll in surprise. "What?" he grunted quietly when he regained his wits.

There was a shifting sound as Hun turned over and (presumably) faced him. "Do I need to hold you down?"

"No," Miraak nearly hissed. Then he thought. "Why?"

Hun sighed sleepily. "You need to hold still to fall asleep. Your body wants to move to see if you're still awake. All you're doing when you shift around is tell your body 'yep, I'm still awake, don't shut down on me'."

Miraak thought for a moment. "I see."

"Also, you're keeping me awake."

The first dragonborn snorted, and the room fell silent, stillness only broken once more that night.

"Good night, Miri."

"_Voonikmaar_."

* * *

That last word means 'idiot'.


	3. Chapter 3

Warning: artistic liberties taken with horse.

* * *

A shriek split the air as the blue flaming skeletal horse reared, flailing its ebon hooves at the stranger in front of it.

"Shh! Shh, it's okay, Arvak, you're okay…" Hun tried to soothe the startled summon, "Don't worry, you're on Nirn, now—do you remember the sun?"

Miraak rolled his eyes, hidden behind his new (for him at least) helm. A mere animal couldn't begin to comprehend—he blinked in surprise as the horse seemed to calm with the words and began searching the sky, standing stalk still when its head pointed directly at the lightening horizon.

"There you go, boy. I know you don't know me yet, but you knew me before, and you've always been a good friend to me."

Hun grinned at Miraak when the horse whickered softly, watching the sun begin to peak over the mountains, before pulling his helm on and vaulting onto the equine skeleton. The last dragonborn held his hand out to the first, which Miraak ignored, pulling himself up with the same grace that came from much practice mounting far larger creatures.

Hun snorted, righting himself on the back of the creature. "You might want to hold on to me; Arvak is pretty fast."

Miraak let his silence speak for him.

"Okay, fine…" Hun twisted around and cast a spell at him before he could react.

"What did you just do to me?" Miraak intoned harshly, eyes narrowing behind his helm.

"Slowfall spell, from Morrowind—specifically Vvardenfell. For when you fall off."

Miraak growled at the cat. "I'm not going to—"

The Atmoran was cut off spectacularly when his seat moved out from under him at a speed shockingly faster than most dragons he's ridden, before gently falling to the snowy ground, landing on his rear. The horse came to a stop a ways down the road and cantered back to him, Hun laughing while holding tight to the creature's neck vertebrae.

Miraak glared. "You left before I was ready," he accused.

Hun shrugged, again leaning over to offer a hand up, which Miraak again ignored, lifting himself back onto the horse behind the cat.

Refusing to even touch the cat after that incident, Miraak examined the beast beneath him for a convenient hand or foot hold.

While Hun was perched directly behind the horse's forelegs, he sat near the end of the ribs, and even without being in motion, he was having a hard time keeping from sliding off. Eventually, Miraak resolved to brace his feet against the horse's pelvis, with his knees gripping the rear ribs in a kneeling position. It wasn't very comfortable.

Hun twisted around to look at his posture and snorted, turning back around and shaking his head. "Suit yourself. I'll start slowly this time." True enough, instead of shooting off again, Arvak began at a steady canter before slowly speeding up to a landscape blurring charge.

The scenery passed quickly, from mountain to marsh to town to forest to mountain again, and as the sun began to sink, the two dragonborn slowed to a stop at a semi-abandoned fort near their destination. As they had passed through Morthal, Miraak had noticed that the citizens didn't seem to overly notice the flaming blue skeleton horse in their midst—just minding them as if Arvak was a normal horse (they had slowed down to normal speeds in the town), and nothing they didn't see every day.

While speeding through the wilderness, animals and bandits simply couldn't keep up—even running through the heart of Labyrinthian (which hadn't been ruins when last he'd been there), the trio of frost trolls there only gave a half hearted chase to the narrow pass at the southern end before giving up and fading into the distance.

The ride was long and hard—at least for Miraak. Hun seemed to be fine, dismounting with the same Khajiit grace he'd mounted with. Miraak, on the other hand, stumbled when he got off.

Hun sighed and shook his head at Miraak. "Well, you're persistent, I'll give you that." Then he added in a more worried tone, "You're okay to fight, right?"

Miraak glared at him, though the effect was somewhat lost due to his face concealing helm. "Yes."

Hun pause to give him a look, unreadable due to his own helm, before facing Arvak and giving him a pat on his bony nose, releasing him. The pair of dragonborn watched the skeletal horse run off down the road and fade away into the evening glow.

The two turned to look at the crumbling fort and consider their approach. From what Hun had told him, the fort was currently inhabited by a small group of bandits that would need to be cleared out before they could rest for the night. Miraak's aching limbs had him half wishing they could have traveled on to Whiterun and gotten a proper room. As the other dragonborn had said, however, Whiterun was currently turning visitors away at the gates due to the events at Helgen, and the guards would, most likely, refuse them entrance unless they revealed their faces, which, with Miraak's daedra black eyes and Hun's race, wouldn't help their case at all.

Hun glanced back to Miraak and considered him for a moment before getting the first dragonborn's attention with, "I bet I can clear them out in ten minutes."

Miraak opened his mouth to refudiate, but the words turned to a grimace when his knees gave a painful twinge.

Hun looked up to the top of the tower they were hiding behind and whispered, "_Laas yah nir_," before glancing around. "Maybe five." He turned to Miraak fully. "Race you to the top?" Without waiting for his answer, the _kaaz_ slapped him on the shoulder and walked around the corner.

Miraak snarled silently at the touch and quietly followed the other dragonborn, listening as the bandits' lookout called out a warning that ended in a gurgle and the thump of a body falling to the earth.

The next seven minutes were filled with similar noises as the Khajiit slaughtered their way through the fort with startlingly fast arrows and an occasional fus! that rocketed through the stone halls, drawing the attention of the entire bandit encampment. Their forewarning didn't save them, however, as each and every bandit came running to see the commotion and got an arrow to the face as a reward. A few of the bandits tried to flee upon seeing what they faced, but none managed more than a few steps backwards before fletching sprouted from an eye socket or throat.

Miraak for his part was content to hang back and watch the brutal poetry of the dancing cat before him, though he did end up throwing some lightning at a few bandits trying to sneak around behind Hun. It was after a few rounds of this that Miraak discovered something somewhat disturbing.

He was smiling.

Traveling across a country he'd only dared to hope to see again, planning and scheming with a neigh omniscient ally who was willing to listen to his input, using the power so readily available at his fingertips to strike down his foes… It was everything he'd thought his initial priesthood would be when the dragons had first discovered his talent, before the reality of the situation had sunk in. And then he'd stumbled upon the temple…

Miraak turned and refocused on Hun, who had stopped his dance of death and was looking at him expectantly with his helm under one arm. Not wanting to admit he'd been caught reminiscing, the first dragonborn said, "I saw a few beds back this way, if you are finished." Miraak turned away before he could see the eye-roll he was sure was coming.

Hun scoffed as he followed his fellow back down the corridor.

Of course, things could be better—while the irritating _kaaz_ he'd been planning and adventuring with would take his advice on politicking seriously, that seemed to be the only thing he did. Hunseul always seemed to dance everywhere, never taking anything as seriously as Miraak felt he should and laughing off any concerns the first dragonborn had… he again attributed this behavior to repeating the same life over and over, with the expectation to repeat again if events didn't happen in the desired way…

Which brought up an interesting point. Miraak considered Hunseul for a moment before deciding to just ask. "If, after you die, you wake up once more with all traces of your previous life rendered meaningless, why are you putting such effort into saving this world?"

Hun stopped midway through brushing out one of the bedrolls in the chamber Miraak had led him to. "Well, I mean, what else is going to stop this cycle? I've done a lot of research into dragon breaks, and I'm reasonably sure that if I do the right thing, it'll all stop."

Miraak frowned. "Is that what this is? A dragon break?"

Hun laughed. "Not at all. But there really aren't a lot of studies into time loops, or any, really, so that's the next best thing. Also, Sheo keeps hinting at something whenever we run into each other, and if I can divine any meaning at all from that madness, it's that Akatosh wants something from me, and won't let me go until he has it."

Miraak's frown deepened as he turned to the task of cleaning off his own bedroll. "And you think what he wants is the reunification of Tamriel."

Hun hesitated and shrugged when Miraak looked up. "Well, why not? It's what Talos did."

Miraak huffed internally. This cat and his non sequiturs. "Talos?"

Hun finished wiping down his bed for the night and began releasing himself from his armor. "In many of my past lives, I was named 'Stormcrown'—Talos by the Greybeards."

Miraak was quiet for a few moments as he followed Hun's motions and began shedding his own armor, thinking. "Could Talos have been in a time loop as well?"

Fully divested of armor, Hun sat on his claimed bedroll and leaned back. "Maybe—it makes sense, doesn't it? It would explain how he was able to do all those things, and even achieve CHIM… most that do that spend centuries trying for it, elves and the like. It's weird for a man to be able to get that, especially when he's busy conquering the world."

Miraak decided to think about the implications of this later, and ask more questions while the cat was in a sharing mood, taking his own seat on his bedroll and contemplating the other dragonborn in the low light of the nearby torches. "Sheo?"

Hun grinned, sagging into a more relaxed position until he was laying on his back on the bedding. "Sheogorath—the mad god. We run into each other sometimes and talk."

Of course he did. Miraak shifted to lean on one side, hand planted against the roll to stabilize himself. "Do you not think this is unusual?"

Hunseul turned onto his side to face Miraak. "Maybe a bit. But honestly, I've run into every prince on my travels a time or two—even died by one's hand once. Or, well, not 'hand' per say…" Hun ended off with a stupid grin.

Miraak sighed and rubbed his free hand over his face. "Do I want to ask?"

Hun laughed. "It was Sanguine, so probably not."

The former dragon priest gave a sound of disgust and laid fully down on his side, back to the cat. "I'm going to sleep now."

Hun laughed again. "Good night."

Soon there were only snores coming from him, and Miraak was left to his thoughts.

-0-

The next morning found the two dragonborn riding at a trot along the road, wearing their collection of feature-covering mismatched gear as they made their way to the soon-to-be destroyed tower. There had been some discussion earlier about when exactly to show up; before or after the dragon's first attack. If they arrived with the relief guard, they would have a larger, more officious audience, but it may be harder to get away afterwards. In another manner, if they arrived during the initial dragon attack, they could prevent more loss of life and make themselves seem mystical by showing up sooner and they wouldn't have as much trouble leaving, considering all of the guards were native Skyrim Nords, and could be expected to not interfere with the two dragonborn while they worked. The same could not be said for a certain dark elf.

Hun had said that the dragon had been circling for a while and that one of the guards had run off early on, so if they drew out the fight long enough, they could have the best of both worlds, killing the dragon with the Nords just as the Dunmer arrived and vanishing before she could accost them.

Miraak shook his head from his cramped position on Arvak's back. If they were going to be traveling together, and be known by their armor, then they were going to need to find a more dignified form of transport. Because he refused to continue on this vector if they were going to be recognized leaders.

Finally, the watch tower appeared on the horizon and the two dismounted, intending to creep along the rock on the side of the road until they found their selected hiding spot between two large boulders where they would wait for the dragon to attack.

The tower was quite plain, with what looked like might have been a wall around it at one point, now toppled and worn. The tower itself was in good condition, having been kept up better than its curtain wall. It stood tall and proud against the backdrop of mountains and trees, amongst the tough tundra grass and sparse wildflowers that made up the region.

The plan was for them to cast invisibility then appear out of nowhere when the dragon attacked, slay it by shouting, absorb the soul in front of the guards, then disappear in a flash of flame that would be a quick succession of flame cloak and invisibility. They had had some debate on if they should stop to gather materials for their armor, but Hun had insisted that he could gather plenty from other dragons and didn't want to linger after the dragon was dead.

The pair of dragonborn looked up simultaneously as a roar sounded from ahead of them.

Hun grinned. "Here we go."

Miraak nodded, casting a long invisibility spell over himself as Hun did the same, waiting for a moment before following the barely noticeable footfalls of his fellow _Dovah_. The two came to a stop in the middle of the road next to the tower, watching the guards watch the skies in trepidation as the sound of wind rushing out of the way of a great flying beast washed over them all.

Finally, it was upon them.

Great sallow wings flared from behind the tower as Mirmulnir came to perch atop the crenelations, bending its great neck down to grab and toss a guard from the roof to the ground, effectively capturing everyone's attention. "_Alduin alokke_! _Hin sille los ok wah du_!"

Breaking invisibility, the two shared a nod and got to work.

"_Mul Qah Diiv_!" The answering roar echoed throughout the valley as glowing, golden armor encased the two dragon souled figures, obscuring their lack luster armor, and every eye in a hundred miles turned to them.

"_Dovahkiin_…" Mirmulnir intoned, eyeing them warily.

Miraak snorted quietly. It seemed Hunseul was right; this _Dovah_ was a coward. Having hidden itself away during the great dragon purge after Alduin's forced retreat through the timestream, the beast before them only reappeared when the tide seemed to shift in its favor again. They were going to have to work hard to keep the skittish dragon from fleeing…

"Dragonborn," some of the guards near them whispered reverently.

...Which meant they had to tread a fine line to keep the guards impressed by them but not so threatening to the dragon that it fled. That would be an anticlimactic way to reveal themselves to the world. Besides, they needed to put to rest any doubt by absorbing a _dovahsil_ in front of the guards.

With all of that in mind, Hun called out, "Your days are short, worm!" and Miraak threw a low power fireball, something that, with the dragon's fire-resistant hide, would do little more than annoy the beast.

The dragon's eyes narrowed. "_Sahlo… Hi lost nid mindoraan do faal lot tinvaak, mal joorre_, you have no comprehension of the tongue you so pathetically use. It will be my honor to destroy you before you become a threat." With that, the dragon roared and launched itself into the air, swooping over head and gaining altitude before wheeling around and diving at them at great speed.

Well that was easy enough. Now to give the guards a show.

"Men!" the leader of this group of guards roared, "Form up! Aid the dragonborn! Archers! At the ready!" The four guards drew their bows back and waited for the signal.

The two dragonborn glanced at each other, Hun shrugging while Miraak gave a small, silent huff. He hadn't been expecting the Nords to rally this quickly, but they could still work with that.

Hun drew his bow back as the dragon closed on them. "Aim for the joints!" he called out, "Down it!"

Miraak let lightning collect in his hands.

"LOOSE!" the captain commanded, and those with bows let loose a short burst of five arrows, one pinging off of Mirmulnir's chest and another getting caught in a wing as it came upon them and Shouted.

"_Yol Toor Shul_!"

Many of the guards jumped out of the way the instant flames began to leap from the maw of the beast, but not the dragonborn.

"_Fo Krah Diin_!" The two Shouted, waves of frost leaping from their mouths to counter the inferno bearing down on them in an explosion of ice and fire.

Mirmulnir went whipping by overhead, wind ruffling the grass and the guard's beards, kicking up the dust of the road and obscuring sight.

"_Lok_!" Hun barked quickly, voice clearing the air just in time to see the dragon swooping at them again, claws held out in front of it.

"_Feim_!" Miraak Shouted as Hun threw himself flat to the ground, the dragon's talons passing through his form.

"LOOSE!" the leader yelled, and four arrows sailed through the air, two missing and two getting caught in the wing.

The dust briefly flew up again before settling, Hun's magic still affecting the area.

Mirmulnir let out a roar of frustration and wheeled around again, coming in slower. This time, instead of making a pass, it stopped and hovered before them.

"_Yol_—"

The dragon got no further as an arrow embedded itself deep into the beast's finger joints where the wing came together, jolting the dragon midair as flames sputtered out of its mouth. It roared in agony and Miraak took the opportunity to blast the beast's belly with lightning, _feim_ fading and scorching a wavering line down its scales before it crashed to the ground.

Mirmulnir picked itself up as the group moved to surround it, glaring in confusion at the two glowing figures. "What is this?"

Beneath his mask, Miraak smiled. It felt good to be killing dragons again, proving his superiority over the winged children of _Bormahu_. Even if he had to share the glory this time.

"_Hin oblaan_," the first dragonborn intoned, lightning crackling in his hands.

"_Nid_…" Mirmulnir's eyes widened as it drew back its head, "_Zu'u fen ni dir het_!"

The dragon raised its wings high and brought them down, lifting off for only a moment before crashing down again, injured wing closing up of its own accord.

"The beast attempts to flee!" one of the guards called while the rest cheered.

"_Voonik joorre_!" the dragon roared, "_Dreh ni mindol hi lost zu'u kriaan nu_! _Yol Toor Shul_!"

"_Spaan Ro Dwiin_!" Hunseul countered, and the glut of fire barreling towards them hit an invisible shield and scattered to the sides, setting the grass ablaze. Soon enough the dragon's fire sputtered out and the shield fell.

"_Mid Vir Shaan_!" Miraak Shouted. It hadn't been what they had initially planned, but since the guards seemed to be insistent upon being included, why not?

The guards stared in wonder as their weapons began to glow with magic.

"Attack!" Hunseul commanded, drawing his own sword and leaping at the dragon's face.

Miraak cursed and shot a bolt of lightning into Mirmulnir's open maw, forcing it shut before the suicidal cat could get himself eaten.

Hun seemed to stumble slightly upon landing on the dragon's head, having overshot somewhat, but regained his balance easily enough.

The guards roared and drew their swords, rushing to flank the overwhelmed _Dovah_ as it began to panic, thrashing its head from side to side in an attempt to fling Hun off.

Hun let out a roar of his own, slashing at Mirmulnir's snout and face while bracing himself between the dragon's horns to keep from falling off.

The dragon tried to raise a wing to claw the cat off its head, but a nearby guard drove his sword through the membrane, pinning it to the ground.

Miraak, for his part, couldn't get a clear enough space to cast magic at the dragon, so stayed back and delved into his knowledge of the other schools to aid the fighters and took in the situation with incredulity. There was an ancient, millennia old _Dovah_ pinned to the ground by five blood thirsty Nords and one crazy cat, struggling to flee for its life in the wake of the onslaught. The fight was such a farce it almost made Miraak pity the dragon. Almost.

"What in Oblivion—!" Ah, that must be the dark elf, they could finally end this 'battle'.

Hun leaned all the way back from his position at the rear of the dragon's skull, causing the beast to arc its head back and expose its neck, and Miraak finally drew his sword.

"_Wuld_!" the first dragonborn Shouted, sprinting between the guards and thrusting his sword up through the dragon's jaw and into its brain, killing it instantly.

The dragon fell limp as Miraak withdrew his sword with a yank, giving it a small flick to shed any excess blood before sheathing it as Hun slid from the dragon's head and stood side-by-side with him, facing the dragon with their backs to the new arrivals.

The leader of the small group of guards that had been stationed at the tower made his way over to the dark elf and began to speak, "Captain, the dragon attacked and these two dragonborn came to slay it!"

"Dragonborn?" the Dunmer repeated sceptically, "I don't—"

At that moment, Mirmulnir's corpse began to glow, and its soul lifted from its dead flesh and hovered between the two _dovahkiin_. Miraak gave the soul a small tug, not expecting to gain it for himself. To his surprise, though, the soul began to drift in his direction before stopping and heading to Hun before stopping again, seeming to decide upon the first dragonborn for its final resting place as it absorbed into him.

Before Miraak could properly ponder this new development, a harsh voice rang out from behind the two.

"Who are you? How did you get here? Answer me!"

The two dragonborn turned to face the guards once more. Miraak decided to let Hunseul, with his superior knowledge of these individuals, handle this.

"We are _dovahkiin_, dragonborn, in your tongue." Hun intoned, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "We have come to save you." He nodded to Miraak, and the two cast their fire cloaks and vanished into the flames, leaving behind a group of properly awed Nords and one frustrated elf.

Hunseul reappeared a distance away, far out of sight of the guards when he could no longer keep his laughter to himself and yowled with it, making the most _kaaz_ noise Miraak had heard from him yet. "Did you see their faces?!"

And Miraak had to admit, reappearing next to him, "It was quite satisfying."

Hun took off his helm and grinned, rubbing one paw over his fur as if trying to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "And Mirmulnir! Can't even face his death with dignity."

Miraak snorted, taking off his own helm and setting it on a nearby boulder. "I didn't believe you before, when you told me of his cowardice. I stand thoroughly corrected." He retrieved a rag from a pouch around his waist and mopped his face off. It was decidedly odd to be doing things like sweating and breathing again, but he wouldn't give it up for anything. Even if it did feel disgusting. He looked back up to see Hun watching him contemplatively. "What?"

"_Brit_!" Hun barked quietly at him, and Miraak instinctively fell back into an attack stance.

"What are you doing?" the first dragonborn hissed.

Hun snorted, turning his back and shoving his helm back on. "You're welcome."

Miraak growled for a moment before he realized what the _kaaz_ had done to him. Or, for him. The uncomfortable stickiness he'd recently relearned to relate to being covered in sweaty clothes was gone, leaving behind the feeling of having put on his armor immediately after drying off from a cold bath in a river. Before he could comment though, a booming _Thu'um_ echoed from a nearby mountain, and both dragonborn jumped.

"**DOVAHKIIN**!"

"Heh, I always forget about that part," Hun said, settling his bow back on his back.

Miraak just sighed, content to put the whole affair behind him. Well, for the most part. "Why did you try to jump into the dragon's mouth?" he asked, settling his own helm back onto his head.

Hun paused in his summoning movements for a moment before continuing, purple light spilling from his gestures to form Arvak. "Oh, that. I was going to try and cut out its tongue." The cat took in Miraak's silence and turned to him. "Did you think I was trying to kill myself?"

"Why else does one throw themself into a dragon's maw?" he retorted, unimpressed.

Hun shook his head and laughed. "Well, when you put it that way…" He ran his hand over the skeletal horse's bony flank. "Hey, I was thinking, you know the way to Eastmarch from here, right?"

"Yes," Miraak confirmed, suspicious. "Even if the roads have changed, I imagine the general direction has remained the same."

"Right," Hun said, backing a step away from the flaming horse, "I think you should ride in front."

Miraak's eyes narrowed behind his helm. "You're going to grab me from behind, aren't you?"

"Well, yes," Hun admitted. "That's generally how two people ride a galloping horse. And you refuse to do it, probably doing permanent damage to your knees..."

Miraak made a disgusted sound but swung himself onto Arvak's back. He was somewhat surprised but very thankful that the ridges of the animal's spine didn't dig into his sensitive parts, seemingly being cushioned by some invisible force. His moment of intrigue fled, though, when the other dragonborn mounted behind him and immediately wrapped his arms around Miraak's waist and rested his chin on the irate Atmorian's shoulder. "Is that truly necessary?"

"Aww come on, Miri, I never get to cuddle anyone anymore!" Hun complained, tightening his grip and snuggling deeper into his back.

Thoroughly annoyed, Miraak drove a heavily armored elbow back into Hun's lightly armored ribs, drawing a gasp and a weeze from the _kaaz_ and thankfully loosening his grip. "Do Not Call Me That," he bit out.

"Okay," Hun coughed, letting go of Miraak's waist with one hand to massage his bruised side.

Satisfied, the first dragonborn urged Arvak into a gallop.

* * *

_Alduin alokke_! _Hin sille los ok wah du_! = Alduin arises! Your souls are his to devour!

_Sahlo… Hi lost nid mindoraan do faal lot tinvaak, mal joorre_. = Weak… You have no understanding of the great speech, little mortals.

_Hin oblaan_. = Your end.

_Nid… Zu'u fen ni dir het_! = No… I will not die here!

_Voonik joorre_!_ Dreh ni mindol hi lost zu'u kriaan nu_! = Stupid mortals! Do not think you have me killed now!

_Spaan Ro Dwiin_ = Shield Balance Steel. One of Hunseuls shouts. The full shout shields the user from damage for a short time.

_Brit_ = Beautify. The first word in Hunseul's created cleaning shout—cleans the target of sweat and dirt. Can be used on oneself or others, depending on intent.


	4. Chapter 4

**No Beta.**

* * *

The pair rode for the entire day, stopping off at a fort to clear out the bandits and sleep before continuing on to Eastmarch, arriving at the stinking sulfur fields as the sun began to set. The two had debated the merits of stopping for the night verses continuing on, and eventually stopping won out with Hunseul declaring he had a 'really good' camping spot. Miraak was not thrilled at the idea of camping in the rotten smelling landscape, but reluctantly stirred Arvak in the direction the other dragonborn indicated.

He was still nonplussed when the cat led him down a crack in the ground and through a cave to a verdant garden with a massive blooming tree sitting in a beam of light surrounded by protective roots. They were not the only ones there, however, and the former champion of Hermaeus Mora tensed as a female Nord approached them. Miraak was annoyed at the gratitude he felt when Hunseul stepped in to intercept her.

"Greetings travelers, you stand in the presence of the Eldergleam, sacred tree of Kynareth. Is it not beautiful?"

"It is indeed. A sight we were not expecting on our journey, but made all the more enthralling for it," Hunseul answered smoothly. "My companion and I have been riding all day, and have another hard day of riding tomorrow, may we rest at this place tonight?"

The Nord smiled. "Of course. Kynareth made this sanctuary for weary travelers such as yourselves. Rest all you need.

Hunseul bowed his head. "Thank you. May Kynareth guide your path."

The Nord smiled and nodded at them, moving away again.

Miraak waited for the woman to get far enough away before whispering to the other dragonborn. "I do hope you're not expecting us to sleep on the ground in full armor."

Hunseul simply motioned him to follow and led him further into the cavern, up some stairs, and to a nest of twisted tree roots. Then the _kaaz _knelt and _whispered_ to them. Miraak didn't sense any power emanating from the indistinct words, and almost jumped when the roots silently made a hole for them.

"I promised neither of us would cause any trouble, Miraak. Please don't make a liar of me."

The Atmorian snorted. "I am fully capable of keeping to myself, should the need arise."

He followed Hunseul up the slope through the tunnel to another, smaller clearing, this one at the base of the tree.

"We can sleep here," Hun said, taking off his helm. "As long as we stay on this side of the tree, they won't see us."

Miraak let out a long sigh as he joined his fellow _Dovah_ in shedding their heavy gear. "Do you have a solution to the bed problem?"

"We could spoon?" Hun grinned at him.

"I could make a rug out of you," Miraak counter offered.

Hun laughed, then gestured to the base of the tree. "The moss here is very soft, it makes a better bed than the sleeping rolls we've been commandeering—and the tree gives good dreams to those it likes."

Miraak stared at the cat. "And you brought _me_ here?"

Hun laughed again. "I've dealt with daedra a ton before, She's never given me nightmares—that's Vermina's job."

"She?" Miraak frowned. "Kynareth?"

Hun shrugged. "Kynareth, Kyne, the tree, whatever. There's some benevolent force to this place, and if you're respectful, it'll be kind to you."

Miraak stared up at the tree, doubtful. Well, if it kept the _kaaz _from latching onto his back in the middle of the night… He eased himself down onto the moss a deliberate distance away from the clingy cat and noted with begrudging relief that the ground was, in fact, softer than the bedrolls they'd been using. He turned over to see Hun watching him with a pensive look. "What?"

"You've not had many interactions with the divines, have you?" he asked.

Miraak shook his head. "Not unless you count the dragons."

A smile twitched at Hun's lips before vanishing. "They don't act like the daedra—they're kinda the opposite, actually. They like to let us mere mortals figure it out with minimal nudging from them. They don't really do big gestures unless the world is ending, and even then they prefer to act through one of us." Hun turned over to lay on his back, staring up at the star filled sky through the blossoming branches of the sacred tree. "It makes me wonder why Akatosh has cursed me like this. It seems like an awful lot of effort to go through. Whatever he wants must be pretty huge."

Miraak stared at him for a moment before replying. "He must trust you to get it right, eventually. He _is _the god of time, surely he can see how this ends."

There was a long pause before Hun looked over at him. "Are you trying to cheer me up?" he asked skeptically.

Miraak snorted, turning over to face away from him. "I am merely stating a fact."

Hun went silent and seemed to shift back onto his back, by the sound of it. Miraak had nearly fallen asleep when he heard Hun reply.

"Thanks."

-0-

The next morning saw the two riding out before any of the worshipers awoke. Miraak was thankful to leave the Adric cave before they could be accosted again and he would have to spout some religious nonsense to get free without either revealing themselves or murdering someone.

Arvak's ebon hooves trod the sulfuric limestone, clops echoing in the dramatic landscape. Hunseul had gripped him around the waist again, though thankfully the cat hadn't tried to snuggle him again. There was only so much humiliation Miraak could take, and he was already riding around Skyrim with a loony Khajiit attached to his back.

Miraak's musings were put on hold as a distant roar signaled the arrival of his newest mount.

"So how do you want to handle this?" Hunseul asked from over his shoulder. "I could shout it down with Dragonrend, if you like?"

Miraak snorted. "No need." He slid from Arvak's back, followed by Hun, and the two watched the flaming horse fade away into the morning mists.

"Shall I go hide then, and watch?" the _kaaz_ asked, resting a hand on his hip.

"If you wish," Miraak replied, indifferent. When there was no response, he turned to look, but the cat had already vanished. Miraak shook his head, refocusing on the horizon where a black smudge began to resolve itself into a dragon.

He stood before the beast as it circled, projecting an air of disinterest. As he predicted, the _Dovah_ landed before him, curious and arrogant.

"_Voonik joor_, you do not understand the danger before you," it intoned, staring down at him.

"You are not worth my time," he replied, turning his back on the dragon.

Incensed, it moved to strike him, and the first dragonborn pulled a string of magic out of the air and spun, looping it around the beast's upper jaw and pulling it taught, forcing it to close. Before the dragon could react, Miraak looped the strand over the beast's jaws, binding them shut. The dragon tried to rear back, but Miraak held on, calling upon his magic and his will to keep him bound to the ground. It struggled for several minutes, flapping and pushing with its legs, but Miraak's will held strong. Nothing could break it, not anymore. Eventually, the dragon gave up and slumped to the ground, and Miraak planted a booted foot on its snout and pushed it into the mud.

"_Gol Hah Dov_," he Shouted. "You belong to _me_ now, worm."

"Whatever you wish, _thuri_," it said when he released its face. Ah, it was nice to hear that word directed at himself again.

Snorting, he turned to the general direction he could sense the other _dovahkiin_ and gestured. The cat seemed to materialize out of the side of a rock and walked up to him with his helm tucked under one arm, eyes wide.

"Damn, Miraak. And here I thought you just Shouted at them."

Miraak took off his own helm and leaned against the dragon's snout as it eyed the newcomer. "I'd rather not need to continuously Shout at it while flying," he explained. "I already broke its will, the Shout was just a formality."

"Huh," was all Hunseul said in response to that. "I've never seen that spell before—with the whip. Could you teach me that sometime?"

Aware of the lack of a helm to block his face, Miraak carefully kept his expression neutral as he turned away, running a hand down the dragon's head to where he would mount. "Perhaps."

Seeming to understand the transactional nature of knowledge he was used to, Hun offered, "Maybe we could trade? Spell for shout?"

Miraak hoisted himself onto the dragon's neck. "Teach me the Shout you use to fly."

Hun's face shuttered. "No."

Of course not. He urged his mount to turn.

"Wait," Hun said, sighing. "The Shout—it has repercussions. It changes you. It can be useful sometimes, but I honestly wish I'd never made it."

Miraak frowned down at him. "Must you be so obscure?"

"If I told you about it, you'd be tempted," Hun replied, bringing a hand up to massage an ear. "You'd think the benefits were worth the drawbacks—you wouldn't understand what you'd be giving up."

Miraak narrowed his eyes. "You don't trust me to make the right choice."

"Not all knowledge is worth it, Miraak," Hun said, "I would think you of all people would understand that."

Miraak grit his teeth and continued turning his mount to the north east.

"Wait—that's not what I wanted to say."

Miraak paused, not looking down to Hun, but not taking off.

The cat sighed again. "Be careful, alright? You know Hermaus better than I do, so you know how he gets when something escapes his grasp. I've got a good feeling about this life, and I really don't want to have to repeat again."

Miraak was silent for a time before donning his helm and remarking, "I regret none of my decisions throughout my life, no matter where they have led me. I am a dragon, and I will stay true to my nature."

"And that's exactly why I can't tell you."

Without another work, Miraak urged his mount to climb into the air, directing it to Solstheim and away from his fellow, refusing to look back.

-0-

Miraak sat at the table deep in his temple where his followers gathered. He'd Shouted his return upon his mount gracing the skies above Solstheim, and now waited for whatever was left of his support to join him at their predetermined gathering place.

The ride over had been, thankfully, uneventful, and had allowed him respite enough to meditate on the words Hunseul had taught him a few days ago. The irony of finally being able to build as fast as he wished when he no longer wanted things built was not lost on Miraak, though part of him was strangely relieved to be leaving at least one of his long held tasks in the past.

He turned his thoughts to Hunseul. The cat was still being quite evasive with the Shout he used to fly. He had said something about it changing him… Miraak didn't think he meant it literally, but perhaps it did that too. Perhaps it turned the Shouter into some flying creature. And given what they were, the _dovahkiin_ was willing to bet it was a dragon. So Hunseul had a Shout that turned himself into a dragon that he did _not_ want to share with Miraak. Why? Was he afraid that Miraak would become too powerful to control? That was certainly a possibility, but the way that Hun had cautioned him made him think that the cat was more fearful _for_ him than _of_ him. Perhaps that was why he had said 'change' with such revulsion. The Shout might affect the mind as well as the body. That didn't make sense though. The dragonborn were dragon in mind and soul, bringing the body into alignment with those two things shouldn't change anything.

Miraak put his thoughts aside as his followers filed into the room, having apparently gathered together beforehand to avoid anyone being alone in the room with him. Perhaps a wise decision, but an oddly cautious one from a group that had been zealous for his return. There were five in total, which struck him as, again, odd. He'd have thought that he'd retain at least a dozen. Perhaps these were merely representatives?

Once they were all seated, Miraak leaned forward, ready to begin, but was interrupted by the cultist across from him. "Wait, there is one more coming."

Narrowing his eyes behind his mask (he'd made a new set of his old armor and had it stored in a hidden compartment in his temple just in case), Miraak settled back into his chair, holding his gaze on the cultist. The Dunmer might as well had not even taken off his mask when he entered the room for all his face revealed.

Miraak could feel his hackles raising as he looked into the carefully blank eyes of his once loyal followers, and instinct compelled him to stand when the door swung open, revealing the last cultist carrying a dreadfully familiar Black Book. He only had time to back away a pace before the cultist opened the book to face him, and Miraak Shouted the first thing that came to mind as black tentacles raced out to grab him.

"_Uth Gol Wahl!_" He forced his will upon the room, picturing a wall between him and the grasping tendrils of his former master. The heavy stone table they had been sitting at flew up, tipping over and crushing his traitorous followers' legs, trapping them in their seats as it blocked the attack from the book, and Miraak turned to run, inhaling rapidly to clear his throat.

He ran for the back exit, knowing he'd never make it through the front, having a feeling that he knew where the rest of his followers were. But this was his temple, old as his reign. The slaves who had constructed it under his orders were all dead, and he'd made sure they could never tell any of the secrets he'd designed. Not even daedric princes.

Pressing himself flat against a wall, he pulled a nearby sconce and the wall flipped, depositing him in a dark, dusty passage that would lead out to the eastern shore of Solstheim. He spared a thought to the dragon he'd arrived on, but he'd left it at the entrance of his temple as intimidation to those who thought to betray him. It obviously hadn't worked, and he had no wish to test whatever traps Hermaus had left for him there.

No, he would have to find another way back to the mainland. He doubted that Alduin had reached this far east as of yet, so there would be no dragons to break. If only he had that shout… Damn that cat!

Miraak growled, reaching the end of the tunnel after a few sprinting Shouts, and pulled on a lever, blasting himself with an icy wind when a boulder rolled out of the way. He spared a thought to move the rock back into place, but he doubted he'd return to Solstheim as anything other than a conqueror in the future. And he doubted he'd stay long enough for it to matter, anyway. But he would return. He would return and burn his _tahrodiis_ followers alive. Then he'd heal them and do it again and again. As many times as their feeble minds could take, and then once more. He would strike their names from history and ensure not a single grain of dust was left of their blackened and burnt corpses.

Calming himself, Miraak focused on his current predicament—getting back to Skyrim and Hunseul. He had several options available to himself, none pleasing. He could attempt to charter a boat, or rather bend the will of the captain into taking him aboard, but the cultists might be lurking in the town, waiting for him to reappear. And besides that, a boat would simply take too long. There was the Telvanni wizard that kept poking around his shrines, but he had no way of knowing how said wizard would react to him. Certainly he was learned enough to recognize the daedric influence in his eyes, and would refuse to treat with him without seeing his face.

Alternatively, he could wait for Alduin to come to the island and resurrect a dragon for him to break, but he did not want to be here for that long. He could attempt to raise one of the dragon skeletons dotted around the island himself—he knew the theory behind it—but he doubted he had enough of Akatosh's essence to call a _dovahsil_ out of the Aethereus.

Miraak sighed, taking his helm off to rub at his face. He hated gambling, but it seemed that the wizard was the only real option he had if he wanted to reach Skyrim anytime soon. He hoped the wizard would be more curious than cautious when it came to dealing with unknowns, but given how old he appeared, Miraak knew he'd have to be on guard.

Casting a long invisibility spell over himself, the first dragonborn began the long trek down the coast.

-0-

"So... a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age."

"I am here to speak to your master," Hun replied, taking in the familiar stone and tapestries swaying in the breeze that crept in through the cracks in the doors and windows on the humble monastery.

Arngeir frowned. "First you must learn the Way of the Voice. Your path will not become clear until then."

"My path is clear. I will speak to Paarthurnax." Hun strode forward. This place was once his home, but the gouge in the stone from his apprentice's errant Shout was gone. There were no new tapestries to replace the old ones that had finally fallen apart. The windows were cleaner with Borri still alive to care for them.

Arngeir moved to block his way. "I cannot allow that."

"I admire your protection of your master, but it is not for you to decide what path I walk. If I am not destined for this path, I will not attain the peak." Hun stood tall before the Nord. He felt a surge of nostalgia for his third life. Though it was literally _thousands_ of years ago now, and he'd been here many times since, he still couldn't shake the longing he had for simpler times. And that he could have them again, and again, and again was a powerful, but poisonous thought. He knew, even if he abandoned his path entirely and sought out slower moments as he once did, he couldn't enjoy them. He tried that once before, but his dragon soul called out for conquest, and he could no longer deny it.

Arngeir bowed his head and stepped aside, allowing Hun to pass. "Then we will see if you truly are dragonborn."

Hun nodded and moved past the greybeard, noting the others that had gathered to watch the confrontation. Even if Akatosh didn't release him after conquering the world, he knew it was the only way he could rest. He was powerful, his long lives had seen to that, and his inner dragon wouldn't settle for anything less than the complete domination of Nirn. And even then, there might yet be lands unknown to them, further than Akavir. No, resting was not something Hun was capable of anymore.

The last dragonborn made his way up the mountain, shouting at intervals to clear the deadly fog. He only hoped that Miraak wouldn't figure out the soul-to-flesh shout Hun had made with Paarthurnax all those life times ago. Despite living for so long in a library, the other dragonborn still struck him as youthfully ignorant of certain topics. Or perhaps he simply refused to consider that his world view was not universal, and that there were things worse than death.

The great white dragon swept down from the sky to land before Hun. "_Drem Yol Lok. _Greetings_, wunduniik. _I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my _strunmah_…my mountain?"

"Paarthurnax. It is good to see you again, old friend, though you would not remember me," Hunseul returned. Of course, he also highly doubted that Miraak would simply give up. It wasn't in the nature of a dragon to let something they wanted go, and though his fellow dragonborn was not truly a dragon, he still styled himself after the great beasts and would follow what he thought to be draconic behavior.

"_Vomindoraan_, I do not understand," Paarthurnax cocked his head.

"We are in the middle of an unprecedented phenomenon I've come to call a dragon loop," Hun explained. That wasn't to say that he thought Miraak was foolish—for the most part, at least. The man simply didn't understand the full implications of being dragonborn. Akatosh put dragon souls into human bodies for a reason. They weren't meant to be full dragons.

"Dragon loop?" Paarthurnax reared his head back. "_Voprodah_, this is most unusual. To ensure I understand this… loop—you have been repeating time?"

"Yes," Hun answered, "from the moment I entered Helgen to the moment of my death, I've lived the same life time many times. This is not the first time we have spoken about this." Miraak sure was good at acting like it, though. The way he _dominated_ that dragon earlier sent shivers down Hun's spine and spawned multiple fantasies concerning his fellow dragonborn. Some of which he'd entertained on the ride up the mountain, but none of which he'd ever expect to come true. Miraak just didn't seem the type to 'waste' time on 'frivolous' activities like sex. It was too bad; the man could do with some relaxing.

"Ah, what _laatte_, conclusions have we reached?" Paarthurnax inched his head closer in interest.

"Well, we've decided that Akatosh needs to be appeased somehow, and given what I've seen of the future, I think that taking Talos's path might end it, and allow me to rest." But that was his decision. If Miraak didn't want to have sex, that was up to him. Hun would simply have to look elsewhere for entertainment. That didn't mean he wouldn't tease him about it, though. But not enough to make it awkward between them.

Paarthurnax let out a long breath through his snout. "Are you certain this is the path to walk? To allow your _dovahsil_, your dragon nature to lead you?"

"I've had a long time to think about it," Hun reassured, "and if this doesn't work, everything will be undone anyway." When he had first rescued Miraak from Apocrypha, he wasn't sure how they'd get along, but as time wore on, the man's prickly nature began to grow on him. And he could tell Miraak was getting used to him, too. The banter that formed between them was unexpected, but much appreciated.

Paarthurnax bowed his head. "_Onik_, clever. That is, if this 'loop' functions how you imagine."

Hun nodded. "It is a risk I have considered, but there is no other choice. Even if every time line reconverges like the end of a dragon break, in every life I've lived, the world ends. If I can prevent this from happening this time, than it will be the only outcome." Maybe he could seek out Sanguine again? He wouldn't really have time for much though, things were beginning to speed up, and the Prince might feel slighted if Hun didn't give him his full attention. That was how his thirteenth life had ended. And while that was _far_ from unpleasant, he couldn't really afford to flirt with Oblivion right now.

"Perhaps the world is meant to end?" Paarthurnax commented. "If these circumstances continue to reoccur?"

"Then why would Akatosh continue to send me back?" Hun countered. In fact, he'd probably not have any sort of time for any sort of frivolity in the coming years, sadly. Between gathering the guilds, settling the war, saving the world and conquering it, their schedule was going to be rather tight.

Paarthurnax nodded. "_Mindoraan_, your words make sense. What will you do now?"

"I need the greybeards to name me and my fellow dragonborn Ysmir, to give credibility to our claim when we move to take the throne." Of course, there were always going to be times where they would have nothing to do but wait… And he'd never been a _male_ Khajiit before. That could be fun to play with.

Paarthurnax nodded solemnly. "I will _tinvaak_, speak to them. They will come to understand your path."

Hunseul inclined his head. "Thank you, Paarthurnax. I will now take my leave, as I am soon needed elsewhere." Weren't they supposed to have barbs? Of course, there _were_ a ton of different kinds of Khajiit, maybe they varied…?

"_Su'um ahrk morah, dovahkiin_."

-0-

Miraak took a breath and strode up to the door in the trunk of the mushroom. He never really understood the Telvanni's need to build in such things, but he was currently thankful that his destination had stood out so much against the gray ash of southern Solstheim.

He was also thankful for the levitation pad in the base of the building—while he knew _of_ the levitation spells of Morrowind, he had never found the right tome to learn them from. He wondered if Hunseul knew them.

"I don't recall inviting you into my tower. Who are you?" the wizard demanded when Miraak touched down at the top.

"A wandering adventurer who has fallen into trouble and needs to return home," Miraak recited the story he had come up with.

The wizard's eyes narrowed and he brought up a hand swirling in green magicka. "I'm not a philanthropist—who do you think I am? Divayth Fyr?"

Spying an opportunity, Miraak asked, "Aren't you?"

As he suspected, the wizard became enraged, magicka growing strong enough to begin bleaching the color out of the room, casting the shelves of ingredients in a fell green light. "No! I am Neloth! Master Wizard of the Telvanni! Do not compare me with that senile old fool!"

"Oh," Miraak answered, not intimidated in the least, "I guess you won't be able to help me, then. Teleportation is a very old spell—I'm not surprised you don't know it. Not many do anymore."

Neloth snorted. "Of course I know—" the wizard cut himself off as his eyes narrowed even more and the light in his hand died. "You're playing me."

Caught, Miraak simply nodded.

"You're either very powerful, or very foolish. Or both." Neloth considered him for a long moment. "Take off your helm."

Miraak wasn't sure how powerful Neloth was, but was confident enough in his own abilities that he could take the (relatively) young wizard in combat, should he not react well. But he needn't have worried, as Neloth's interest only increased when Miraak complied and the wizard saw his solid black eyes.

"What is your name?" Neloth asked after a long moment of staring.

Considering how the wizard seemed to be reacting to an obviously heavily daedra-tainted man, and the reputation the Telvanni had gained (even in Apocrypha), Miraak decided to be truthful. "I am Miraak, former dragon priest, former champion of Hermaus Mora."

Contrary to how most people would react to such a statement, Neloth straightened out of his fighting stance and drew closer. "You're not lying. Fascinating."

"I will be willing to answer any questions you have if you can get me to Riften by tomorrow evening." Miraak glanced down at himself. "And I will let you have this armor, that I created and enchanted myself out of materials from Apocrypha if you can find me something less… conspicuous to wear."

Neloth considered him. "You know teleportation doesn't work like that—you need a predetermined landing point. Somewhere with a lessened liminal barrier, or a great concentration of magic that can act as a bridge. Or somewhere you've marked, but you wouldn't be asking for help then, would you?"

Miraak shook his head and noticed the black book sitting innocently on a peculiar enchanting table. Making a note of it in his head, he returned his attention to the eccentric wizard, who had turned from him to yell at a corner of the lab.

"Talvas! Go find a set of armor for our guest. And make sure to get a full helm! Can't have the uneducated masses seeing his eyes."

A much younger Dunmer practically leapt over the railing in his haste to leave the building, floating down the trunk of the mushroom and out of sight.

Miraak sent an amused look to Neloth, who huffed. "Boy is scared of his own shadow some days. Now, before I expend a great deal of my time searching for a proper landing point for you, can you tell me just what you had planned with those shrines you had built? Knowing who was behind them now and who you were until, I suspect, very recently, I imagine you had intended them to act as world anchors to pull yourself from Apocrypha, yes? At least, until a dragon came and burned them down."

Miraak regarded the wizard in surprise. Though perhaps he shouldn't have—he knew the Telvanni tended to be ambitious yet scholarly, and Neloth seemed to champion this mindset with no regards to anything else. This should be an interesting conversation…

* * *

**This was originally going to be two chapters, but they were both under 2000 words, so I decided to combine them, bringing our total 'done' chapters to 6.**


	5. Chapter 5

**No Beta.**

* * *

Hunseul reclined against the rock face next to the Shadow Stone the next evening, waiting for the rush of air that would signal his partner's arrival. He was curious to see how this next bit of the story would go with two dragonborn, and how the Blades would react if they knew who one of those they had sworn to was.

The Khajiit jumped when a portal opened in front of him and disgorged an iron and steel clad figure onto the ground. The figure stumbled and looked up to find an arrow pointed directly into his eyeslit.

Hun cocked his head and relaxed his bow. "Miraak?"

Miraak shook his head and straightened. "Hunseul. I trust your negotiations fared better than mine?"

"Given that you're teleporting, yeah, I assume so," Hun returned. "What happened to you?"

"Hermaeus," the Atmorian growled. "He turned my followers against me."

"Huh, oh well," Hun said. He hadn't really been counting on them anyway. "I guess something happened to your dragon, then?"

Miraak paused, uncharacteristically unsure. "I did not wish to test whatever traps Hermaeus had left for me around the dragon, so I sought a new way home."

Hun raised his eyebrows behind his helm. "Go on."

"As payment for invoking old magic, I told the Telvanni wizard living on the coast my name and our plans. I did not tell of anything more than your existence," he put in.

Hun stared at him. He really hadn't expected Miraak to let his secret slip so soon. Hun shrugged. "I suppose that's fair. I did the same with Paarthurnax. I don't know Neloth as well as I could, but I have worked with him before, and I know he won't cause us problems out of a misguided sense of justice or whatever."

Miraak seemed to relax slightly. "Good. Now, were we to steal away a Blade from Riften?"

Hun grinned behind his helm. "We were. Shall we?"

The pair made their way through Riften, not stopping to chat with any of the rough rouges of the Thieves guild, though they made passing comments. Down in the ratway, they made short work of any who challenged them, few though there were as most seemed intimidated by the masked and armored strangers marching down the sewers, passing through the Ragged Flagon and into the deeper, darker, and damper warrens that held their target.

In his first few lives, before he started deviating from the script, Hun had to face Thalmor agents that flooded the lower tunnels, not seeming to be deterred at all by passing through a criminal organization. Now though, only a week or so after Helgen, the elves hadn't had enough time to interrogate their prisoners to find the location of this last Blade. Hun wondered briefly what the Thalmor thought of himself and Miraak. Did they believe the reports from the guards? That would be a confrontation to look forward to. Hun was only sad he couldn't lay siege to their outposts and slaughter them all yet. All in due time, of course.

Eventually, they reached Esbern's door, and Hun knocked.

"Go away! I'm very dangerous!"

"Remember the 30th of Frostfall," Hun answered, voice deep and commanding.

There was a silence from the other side of the door before the eye slat opened, revealing an old Nord wearing a rather flabbergasted expression. "How do you know that date?"

"The Great War started that day. The Thalmor ambassador gave his ultimatum to the Emperor Titus Mede: the heads of every Blades agent within the Aldmeri Dominion. That day was truly the beginning of the end," Hun intoned. "But it doesn't have to be. Alduin has come again, and the dragonborn have risen to match him. But the world eater is only the beginning. Will you aid us in our march across Tamriel? Will you stand at the start of a new era? Will you keep your blood oath to serve the dragonborn? To serve us?"

The old man seemed to be breathing rather heavily. Hun winced behind his helm. He may have come on a bit strong—he really didn't want the poor man to have a heart attack. That would dampen some of their plans.

Eventually, the Nord seemed to calm down, and nodded, glancing between Hun and Miraak. "I—I will follow you, dragonborn. I'm not sure what aid I can provide, but anything I can do to help your conquest, I won't hesitate."

Hun nodded. "Make your way to Riverwood. There is an old friend awaiting you at the inn."

Esbern's eyes widened. "Who—? No, I will know soon enough. Is it safe? It must be, but—" The man ducked his head to the side to peer around Hun and Miraak, but didn't appear to see anything threatening.

"It will be safe enough for the next few days. The Thalmor have yet to discover your hiding place, but that will change soon. You must leave here today if you wish to remain unharrassed on the road. Use the southern pass and keep your face hidden, they know it well."

Esbern nodded again. "I will depart shortly. What will you do, dragonborn?"

Hun turned from the door, offering his parting words from over his shoulder. "Our duty. We will meet again soon."

The pair departed, Miraak following at Hun's side. As soon as they were out of earshot, Miraak spoke. "I do hope you have a use for me soon."

"I can do these early steps quite well, but things tend to fall apart later. That's where I'm going to need you. The stuff that comes after… I have no idea how to rule. Until then, though, I know how to position things. And I need you by my side helping me, if you want to have any kind of legitimacy later."

"I will try to have patience."

Hun laughed at the sour tone of his voice. "I'm sure I can find some use for you before then—you managed to charm Neloth, after all, and I have no idea how to do that."

Miraak shrugged. "Metaphysical discussions on the nature of reality and magic seemed to do well."

Hun shook his head. "I might have experienced a lot of that stuff, but I just don't have the head for discussing it. I know it, but I don't have the language for it."

They went silent as they passed through the cistern again, not wanting the thieves to eavesdrop on them.

It wasn't until the city walls had faded from sight that either spoke again.

"When I went to meet with my followers," Miraak began, "Hermaus reached out to me from a book, and nearly succeeded in pulling me back into Apocrypha."

Hun paused. "Yeah, that's gonna be a problem." He thought for a minute. He'd never really had this problem before—even after defeating Miraak, Hermaus tended to leave him alone, content that Hunseul would find his way back to the prince in due time. Not that he ever did. He'd never been actively pursued by one before. "You think he'd going to keep trying to get you?"

Miraak nodded. "Or the both of us. He does not allow what he considers to be his belongings go. And I don't doubt he is seeking you for your defiance as well as me."

Hun sighed. "Yeah, that's definitely going to be a problem. I didn't think he'd have much power here, but if he has your former followers at his command, he might be able to disrupt our plans."

"Fortunately," Miraak said, "he does not enjoy intervening directly. He much prefers to send others to do his work. I highly doubt he would manifest on Nirn for any other purpose than to spy on us or recruit bounty hunters. Or direct his new followers," he ended sourly.

"Aww damn," Hun huffed. "And here I was looking forward to shooting him in the eye. Well," he continued, "there is something we might be able to do about it, but we should deal with the Blades, first. We really need to start killing some dragons too. Need to be present in the minds and tales of the Nords… It wouldn't do for them to doubt our conviction."

Miraak regarded him. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," Hun replied, "we need to go meet an old friend of mine in Solitude. He might be able to help us with our daedra problem."

"And have you actually met that friend yet?"

Hun just laughed.

-0-

The pair rode hard the next few days, taking the long northern route around the mountains and slaying any dragons they came across on the way. Hun had insisted they pass through Kynesgrove, though it was slightly out of the way, and slay the dragon Alduin had risen there before moving on. By the time they had dismissed Arvak just out of sight of the walls of Riverwood, they had amassed almost enough material to make both of their armor sets.

The masses seemed in awe of them whenever they passed through a town to slay a dragon, and Miraak had to admit it felt good to be properly worshiped again. Though Hun insisted they keep the public slayings to a minimum until he had made them both their armor. They both continued to use the Dragon Aspect Shout to hide their patchwork armor, and always made sure to leave before it wore off. With luck, no one would remember anything other than the glowing armor of the Shout before they had the more physical armor to reinforce their legendary appearance.

The two made their way through the sleepy town in the early hours of the morning, booted feet clacking softly in the sound-shadow of the nearby river and water mill, unnoticed by all but the guards, who they gave a passing nod to before slipping into the inn. In normal times, they might have been stopped and asked to remove their helms, but the guards in the small town seemed to cast their eyes up more than down, and seemed largely unconcerned with the passive strangers.

They had given Esbern a week to get there, after which Hun said they couldn't afford to wait any longer, as the Thalmor would be after the other Blade when they discovered the archivist gone. On their ride across the northern road, Miraak had gotten Hunseul to explain further why they needed the Blades, which were, at the moment, exactly two elderly humans of middling power.

Hun had noted that it wasn't the Blades themselves that they needed, but their contacts. In addition to providing needed opportunities in the future, having a pair of warriors sworn to their blood hidden away in a sanctuary ready to receive any allies they acquire along the way could be useful. But Hun had also noted that one of them needed to be reminded of their station and might cause trouble otherwise.

Miraak had thought the idea ridiculous—how could a single, lowly human even dare to question the authority of Akatosh's closest kin amongst their own kind?—but as he took in the assessing gaze of the female Breton Hun addressed, he felt he could understand. Here was a woman who'd lost everything of value to an implacable, cruel enemy, and had to be on constant alert to not lose her life as well. Her paranoia made her feel the need to be in control at all times, and with the long dissolution of her sacred order, she was no longer used to taking orders from a higher authority.

Miraak held back a snort. While he could sympathize to an extent, the woman would need to become accustomed once more to taking orders, as she certainly wouldn't be giving them.

"We'll take the attic room," Hun was saying.

The Breton glanced between the two armored figures. "Both of you?"

Hun nodded, and the woman shrugged. "Well... we don't have an attic room, but you two can have the one on the left. I'm afraid we only have the one room open for now, so you'll have to share."

"That won't be a problem," Hun answered.

Miraak stared at the back of the cat's feature covering helm. He hoped Hun wasn't planning on sharing the bed with him. He'd hate to kill his companion so soon into their quest, when they'd been working together so well otherwise.

As if Hun had heard his thoughts, the other dragonborn glanced over his shoulder at Miraak and tilted his head.

With that, the Breton led them to the room and told them to make themselves at home, leaving them alone a moment later.

"I hope we do not intend to stay in this room for long," Miraak said after Hun had closed the door.

"No," Hun replied, "she'll be back soon—she just needs to check that the coast is clear before leading us into her secret bunker-basement."

Miraak frowned behind his helm and shook his head, making no reply other than sitting on the small, cheap bed crammed into the tiny room next to a table and chair with a chest at the foot of it, while a short dresser made the already narrow room feel even more cluttered. The former dragon priest looked around in distaste. At least it was somewhat clean.

The two looked up again as the door opened, revealing the Breton from before. "So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about. I think you're looking for this." She handed Hun a particular looking war horn. "We need to talk. Follow me." And without a backwards glance, the woman strode from the room.

Miraak was annoyed at her presumptuousness, but followed Hun as he followed the Breton, first into another room, then down a secret corridor behind a wardrobe and finally into hidden basement room where they were met with a familiar old Nord leaning against a table in the center. There was a bookshelf on the far side of the room bearing ingredients and miscellaneous debris from adventuring. A few weapon racks on the walls held blades in various conditions, some rusted, some well kept, most in a style Miraak had not seen before, only read about. Two chests, a training dummy, and an alchemy and enchanting table completed the room, making the hidden area into a useful panic room.

"Esbern, were these the two that helped you?" the Breton asked.

Esbern nodded. "It is good to see you again, friends."

The woman frowned. "You said the dragonborn had returned, but I don't understand, are there two dragonborn? How are you sure this is them?"

"Delphine," Esbern chided, "they knew about Alduin, they knew about the 30th of Frostfall. They plan to defeat Alduin, save the world, and reunite the empire. If they are not dragonborn, they are still our best hope for survival. And besides, the Greybeards have already confirmed their status—why else send them after the horn?"

Delphine grimaced in frustration. "But how did they know who you were? And where? Even the Thalmor couldn't find you!"

"The tides of fate wash us ashore where we need to land—we must trust in the currents of time to lead us onward," Hun broke in.

Delphine raised a skeptical eyebrow but Esbern nodded eagerly. "You see? They are figures from legend—Akatosh himself is guiding them, as they guide us. Do you not trust in the gods?"

"It's not the gods I'm distrusting," Delphine replied before sighing. "But I can tell when I'm fighting a losing battle. Just where do you see the 'currents of time' leading us now, dragonborn?"

Ignoring the bite in Delphine's words, Hun turned to Esbern. "I think you have the answer to that question."

Esbern straightened, nodding. "Yes." He pulled a book from the knapsack by his feet, placing it on the table before him. "Alduin's Wall. Sky Haven Temple. I believe it is in the Reach…"

"Right," Delphine bit out, "Karthspire. As we were discussing before you got here." She glared at Hunseul and Esbern, unimpressed.

Hun merely nodded. "Then we will meet you at Karthspire in seven day's time. Travel swiftly."

He turned to leave with Miraak following when Delphine couldn't take it any longer and asked, "And you, why don't you speak? Have you nothing to add?"

Miraak regarded her, face impassive even behind the expressionless helm. "_Tinvaak fod tinvaak_. I will speak when I need to speak." Without sparing the two Blades a backwards glance, the two dovahkiinne exited up the stairs and out the inn, having no intention to stay the night.

"That went well," Hun said after the pair had passed out of sight of the main gates.

Miraak snorted. "I feel we may have a problem later if the Breton continues to challenge us."

"Delphine?" Hun asked. "Yeah, she's always been a bit… like that. She's pretty good if you just follow her along and take her at her word, but the moment you challenge her, she'll do whatever it takes to maintain authority. She's supposed to be a Knight Sister for the Blades, but she's acting Grandmaster now. I think the position's gotten to her head, these past few decades. She's forgotten the purpose of the Blades is to serve the dragonborn. Even if we prove ourselves to her, she'll still try to order us around and get bitchy when we don't comply."

"We will need to deal with her, soon," Miraak said.

Hun nodded. "Yeah. But first," he paused dramatically and Miraak rolled his eyes behind his helm, "we have a prince to meet."

* * *

**Happy turkey day, to those who do that.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Spoilers for the end of Oblivion and its DLC The Shivering Isles.**

**No Beta.**

* * *

Miraak could only stare at his ally as the cat conversed with a madman, eventually obtaining a hipbone of all things in exchange for finding his master.

The pair of dragonborn had flown to Solitude after Miraak had dominated a new dragon, dismounting out of view of the city limits and sending the dragon to hide and rest in the mountains and wait to be called upon again. Though the method of travel had improved since the first time they had ridden together, the Atmorian couldn't say he was sorry to say goodbye to Arvak, especially as it meant taking to the sky once more.

The gate guards had been suspicious of them, but with few bandits in the area and the largest threats coming from above, Hunseul managed to talk them down. Which led them to now; walking into the Blue Palace hoping they wouldn't be stopped by guards again, this time for carrying a body part into the queen of Skyrim's home.

Miraak wasn't naive. He knew fully well who the madman's master was. They'd met before, after all. He was just wondering why they were seeking an audience with the prince of madness, how he could possibly help with their situation, or why he would. He'd tried questioning Hun, but the damned _kaaz_ only gazed at him in silent anticipation, expression hidden behind his helm.

After Hun had spoken to what felt like half the population of the palace while avoiding the other half, the pair unlocked and entered a disused wing, cobwebs strung between abandoned cutlery and tankards, dust choking the air and floating in little drifts illuminated by shafts of sunlight penetrating the neglected stained glass windows.

Hun led the way through the grimy wing, stopping suddenly at a seemingly unremarkable empty hallway, one gloved hand coming up to catch his arm and keep him from proceeding.

"As you've probably guessed," Hun began, "we're going to go meet with Sheogorath."

"I can understand why _you_ would seek council with what I can only imagine to be your patron deity," Miraak replied, "but I cannot begin to comprehend why you have dragged _me_ here."

Hun shook his head and laughed lightly. "You're the one who was attacked by a tentacle monster god and his minions. Who were your minions."

Miraak scowled behind his helm, but before he could reply, Hun continued.

"Besides, despite all his threats, Sheo's never hurt me." Hun shrugged. "Even if I insult him to his face, he usually just laughs it off."

Miraak shook his head in disbelief. This cat…

"So I think he'll be fine with you," Hun finished. "Now, I hope this works the way I think it does…"

Keeping his hand on Miraak's arm, Hun stepped forward and everything went grey.

"More tea, Pelly my dear?"

Miraak's vision came back in an odd way, revealing a depressingly grey forest with an oddly high amount of butterflies. He'd never been to Dementia before, but he had read about it. And considering who was sitting at the out of place table before him, he could guess what their surroundings were based on.

"Oh, I couldn't. Goes right through me. Besides, I have so many things to do... So many undesirables to contend with. Naysayers. Buffoons. Detractors. Why, my headsman hasn't slept in three days!"

And across from the Mad God, sat a figure Miraak recognized from history books and more recently from the name of the wing they'd wandered through.

"You are far too hard on yourself, my dear, sweet, homicidally insane Pelagius. What would the people do without you? Dance? Sing? Smile? Grow old?" The Mad God cackled. "You are the best Septim that's ever ruled. Well, except for Martin, but he turned into a dragon god, and that's hardly sporting... You know, I was there for that whole sordid affair. Marvelous time! Butterflies, blood, a Fox, a severed head... Oh, and the cheese! To die for."

Pelagius sighed, folding his arms. "Yes, yes, as you've said, countless times before..."

Sheogorath made a noise of annoyance. "Well then, if you're going to be like that... Perhaps it's best I take my leave. A good day to you sir. I said good day!"

"Yes, yes, go. Leave me to my ceaseless responsibilities and burdens…" Pelagius's voice faded out as the ghost vanished into thin air.

With the ghost gone and the god left glaring quietly at the space he had occupied, Miraak turned to Hunseul. "We are in Pelagius the Third's mind space, aren't we?"

Hun gave him a surprised look, his face visible under the floppy hat he now sported. Miraak was curious as to what the Mad God had chosen to dress him in, but wasn't sure he wanted to spend time finding out. "Yeah, actually. How'd you guess?" The cat's eyes glanced up and down his fellow's body. "And wow it's weird to see you in common apparel."

Miraak chose to ignore the last part of that, and focused on the first. "Obviously we're not on Nirn anymore; there's only one Pelagius that's 'homicidally insane'—at least to the point of attracting this sort of attention; ghosts only appear solid under certain circumstances; and lastly, I've come to expect these sorts of situations from Sheogorath."

Hun blinked. "You've met him?"

The Mad God had looked up sharply at his name being said, and his whole countenance lit up when he saw the speaker. "Miri!"

Miraak let out a long suffering sigh. "Yes. We've met."

Suddenly, they were in front of him, leaving the two reeling at their sudden change in location—though Miraak was happy to have the table between themselves and the prince. "You're not in the library! Did that crazy plan actually work? What am I saying? Of course it did!"

"Actually," Miraak said with a slight smile, happy to redirect the omnipotent mad man by pointing a thumb to Hunseul, "he freed me."

"Reeaaaallllyyyy?" Sheogorath took in the other dragonborn. "A kitty? Oh! I love kitties! Especially when I'm throwing flaming dogs at them." His face suddenly became serious. "You're not afraid of rats, are you?"

"No," Hun answered simply, eyes dancing in mirth at the Mad God's ramblings.

Miraak felt the need to massage his temples, but refrained, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Of course they would get along. Then again, Hun did say they were meeting a 'friend', so he reluctantly pulled Sheogorath's attention back to himself and said, "As free as I may be, I'm afraid that it may not last. Hermaus is not pleased at the situation, and has already made an attempt to recapture me. Is there anything you can do to help, and what will it take for you to do so?"

Sheogorath listened attentively while Miraak spoke before replying, "Well, of course I want to help you two—can't have time repeating for all of eternity, can we?"

Hun started. "You know about the dragon loop?"

"Yes yes," Sheogorath waved a hand dismissively, "it's hardly the first I've lived through."

Miraak was amused to see the other dragonborn so off balance. Eventually, the cat replied in a strangled squeak, "Why've you never mentioned this before?! I come here almost every time I repeat!"

Sheogorath shrugged. "You never asked."

Hun gaped at him. "Yes I have! Many times!"

"Oh have you? I must have forgotten." The Mad God turned back to Miraak. "Don't worry about Hermy—we'll take care of him."

"'We'?" Miraak could only repeat.

Sheogorath grinned, well, madly. "Giggles!" he called out.

Only a second later, a rush of air and the sound of a summon entering the world, er, mindspace, signaled the entrance of a tall figure, armored in grey crystalline plate mail. The figure's face and form were completely hidden by its armor, and it spoke with a deep, echoing voice, "Sheogorath. Is there something you wanted?"

The god in question turned to Miraak and Hunseul and stage whispered, "Ever since I became me, Giggles has been trying to figure out what to do with himself. Sometimes I give him things to do. He seems happy with that. Well, as happy as he gets."

Miraak frowned up at the imposing figure, mildly confused. "Jyggalag, correct? I've never had the pleasure of meeting you before."

Jyggalag considered the dragonborn before him and inclined his head. "Miraak, I believe."

Miraak tried not to show surprise on his face, aware of how exposed he was without his feature covering helm. "You know of me?"

The crystal covered figure nodded. "It was predicted long ago." He turned to Hunseul, who was watching the proceedings with a confused interest. "Your name, however, is shrouded. What did you choose to call yourself, one-who-is-trapped-in-time?"

Hun seemed to pull himself together. "Not sure if I should say, but I named myself 'Hunseul' after the first few times. I've never even heard of you before," he finished in a wondering tone.

Jyggalag inclined his head, not seeming to want to say anything more. Perhaps this was a prediction from the Prince of Order, as Sheogorath cut in immediately.

"Yes, yes, now that we've all met—Giggles! Go push Hermy around some for us—ol' tentacle face lost his prize, fair and square. If he keeps pouting about it—well, use my imagination."

Jyggalag only nodded and disappeared, not speaking a word.

"There! Problem solved," Sheogorath said, turning to the dragonborn and beaming.

Hun shook himself out of the stupor he'd fallen into. "Great! Can we please now talk about how you know about the dragon loop?"

"Certainly!" Sheogorath grinned at him. "Especially now that it's broken."

Miraak watched his fellow twitch in barely suppressed existential anguish, not sure how to feel about Hunseul's suffering. The urge to laugh was strangely absent, leaving in its wake an odd need for solidarity. Miraak barely kept the frown off his face as he watched Hun.

"Broken?" the last dragonborn creaked out.

"Of course," Sheogorath continued, "that's the thing about ol' Akatosh—he just wants his kids to be happy."

Hun only blinked in confusion, so Miraak took up the conversation for him. "What do you mean? Who are Akatosh's children and why are they happy?"

Sheogorath finally stood from his chair and poked Miraak in the chest. "Take a good guess. That's right, little mortal. You didn't think your sky daddy had forgotten you, did you?"

Now it was Miraak's turn to fall into a stunned silence while Hun spoke. "Wait, you're saying that this whole time, all these lives I've lived, all the effort I've wasted… all I had to do was rescue Miraak from Apocrypha?"

"Yup!"

Hunseul's mouth twisted into a ferocious snarl as he roared, "Why in Oblivion didn't you tell me?!"

Sheogorath was unfazed, holding his hand out to one side as a staff materialized into it. He folded his hands over the head of the staff and leaned on it, fixed his eyes on Hunseul's and spoke, voice unexpectedly soft, "It wasn't my place." He soon returned to normal volume, though. "I did help you as much as I could though. Why, I even gave you hints! That's borderline cheating."

Hunseul's rage subsided, and he sighed, suddenly looking every century his age. "So it's over, then?"

Sheogorath shrugged. "It can be. All that's really needed for the loop to break is for the both of you to end up… actually, I'm not sure what it will take for you two. Probably just both go to Sovngarde."

Miraak frowned at the inflection. "It sounds like you have personal experience with this."

"Correct! Not the first loop I've broken… 'course, it wasn't me who was trapped." The Mad God looked off to the side with a small smile as yet another person appeared in a whirl of purple magic.

From the mist materialized a somewhat handsome Imperial wearing a plain grey robe and a warm smile as he regarded the three people he was with.

"Martin!" Sheogorath greeted happily. "We're discussing how to break dragon loops. Care to input?"

Martin regarded the two dragonborn before him. "These are the two…?" He glanced to Sheogorath, and the god nodded. Martin turned to Miraak. "From the eyes, I would guess you are Miraak?"

Miraak raised an eyebrow. "I did not realize I was so famous as to attract the attention of both Princes and random strangers."

"Ah," Martin said, "yes, I should introduce myself." He shot a playful glare over to Sheogorath, who responded only with a cheeky grin. "I am Martin Septim, and very pleased to meet the both of you."

"Martin…?" Hun blinked before shaking himself. "Since no one seems to know _my_ name, you can call me 'Hunseul', or 'Hun' for short."

"It's a pleasure," Martin said. "You're the one that Akatosh is focused on now, yes?"

Hun nodded. "Sheo said you've looped before?"

"Ah, yes. It's a bit of a tale." Martin glanced over to Sheogorath. "If you would?"

The god obligingly waved a hand, and suddenly, they were all sitting in plush chairs circling a campfire where the table once was. Interestingly, Martin and Sheogorath were seated together, on a couch.

Martin spoke, "I always began as a priest of Akatosh, right at the beginning of the Oblivion crisis. I would wake up after having taken shelter at the chapel with the other refugees, only a few minutes before I met the Hero. They always went by different names, and appeared as different races and genders. But they were always the same person, underneath it all. They would escort me to Cloud Ruler temple and together we would save Tamriel. But at the cost of my own life.

"The first time it happened, I thought it was because I became the avatar of Akatosh—He must have sent me back so I could live. I tried to move faster, to get to the dragonfires before it became too late, but no matter what I did, I always ended up needing to sacrifice myself."

Martin sighed. "I ended up getting very desperate. One time, I simply let Dagon win, and didn't sacrifice myself. When I still woke up again after dying to falling debris, I knew there must be another reason. So, I spoke to someone I'd sworn never to contact again. In my youth, I fell into Daedra worship and joined Sanguine's cult. I left after an… incident with the rose, and swore to never meddle in daedric magic again. However, by this point, I had run out of options, and needed a second opinion. I won't detail what I did to attract Sanguine's attention, but after a bit of prompting, he was able to remember the loops, and agreed to help me stop them."

Hun leaned forward in his seat.

"What I didn't know, from my limited perspective, was the eventual fate of the Hero who had helped me," Martin continued. "You see, as this was the end of an era, the greymarch was beginning on the Shivering Isles again."

"The greymarch," Miraak leaned forward, mirroring Hun. "This is when Sheogorath turns into Jyggalag and destroys his realm to remake it into his image, only to destroy it again when he reverts back to being the Mad God."

Hun looked over to him and frowned. "But—didn't we just meet him…?"

Miraak nodded. "Yes. I was rather confused at that as well." He eyed Sheogorath, who merely gave them a mysterious smile before resuming watching Martin with a fond look.

"This greymarch was different, though," Martin said, drawing everyone's attention back to himself, "Sheogorath had a champion. The Hero. When the time came for Sheogorath to revert to Jyggalag, the Hero defeated him, and freed him from his curse, allowing for the personalities to split. Jyggalag left, and the Hero became Sheogorath."

"Mantling," Miraak murmured, looking over to the god in their midst.

"Yup!" Sheogorath spoke up after his long silence. "That was when I became me! And the me that was before me became Giggles!"

Hun frowned, turning back to Martin. "Wait, the world didn't reset when you died?"

Martin shook his head. "No, it only reset a few years after the Hero became Sheogorath."

"Do you know why?" Hun asked, leaning further forward.

Martin glanced over to Sheogorath. "We think it was a hint from Akatosh—that the solution lay in the two of us. And to give other players long enough to act."

"So what ended the loop?" Hun pushed.

Martin smiled. "Well, it was all rather simple, in the end. I merely had to give Sanguine my soul again."

"What!?" Hun exclaimed. "How did that help?"

"That part's a bit more convoluted," Martin said. "Once Sanguine had my soul, he gave it to Sheogorath as a gift. You see, when I had talked to him the previous life, he remembered the loop, and recalled that Sheogorath would often talk about how much he'd missed me—after getting drunk enough, that is. It was actually Sanguine's idea to reunite us. I didn't think it would work… but here we are."

Hun was taken aback. "That stopped it? But why?! Just because he missed you?"

"Actually," cut in a new voice coming from Sheogorath, "I think it's because we fell in love." Slowly, the Mad God's facade morphed from a crazy old Imperial to that of a young looking Altmer. "After getting Martin back, I remembered all the times we looped. And every time... " the mer laughed, "we managed to fall for each other. It didn't matter what form I came in, or what gender—we just fit together."

Miraak cast a cautious glance to Hunseul, only to find the cat was also looking at him. The two stared at each other for a moment before simultaneously breaking off—Hun with a bark of laughter and Miraak with a snort. "Somehow, I don't think that helps us any."

Martin shrugged and the Altmer looked uncomfortably knowing as he gazed at them before speaking again. "We came up with a few theories as to what actually happened—one is that Mara pushed Akatosh into letting us be together, and another is that Akatosh simply wanted the son of his blood to be happy, and knew Martin would always wonder what could have been if he were placed in any other afterlife. He could have given Martin to me on his own in the first place, but I think the loop was needed in order for Martin to choose this afterlife."

Martin picked up when Sheogorath fell silent. "We think something similar might have happened to you. Either Akatosh just wants you both to be happy, or some other divine pushed him into making you repeat. Given who you are and what your plans are, we had guessed Talos."

"So…" Hun said, "to break the loop, all we have to do is keep doing what we're doing?"

The Altmer shrugged. "Probably."

"But nothing is for certain," Martin continued.

Hun frowned. "Well, okay. But if I end up looping again, I'm expecting help from you two."

Sheogorath let out a bark. "If you end up looping again, I think _everyone_ will end up helping you. Right now, they're not aware of the loop, but if someone tells them, well, no one likes repeating time that many times."

Hun looked both relieved and hesitant at the news. "Well… I'll try my best not to mess it up then."

"And I'll go tell everyone to leave you alone!" the Altmer said, upbeat. "Hermaus might or might not listen to Jay, but he will listen to reason. Unlike some," he ended in a grin. "Well, I think that's that, then!"

Martin laid a hand on Sheogorath's knee, stilling him, and looked to the dragonborn before him. "If I could say something?"

Hunseul and Miraak nodded.

"Please," he spoke, "save my people. I may have only been emperor for a moment, but I still feel responsible for the mess that was the past two centuries. It's not fair for me to ask you to correct the mistakes of my blood line, but for the fate of all of Nirn, please." Martin broke off, and his face settled, looking back up to regard them with an odd fondness. "The eyes of the world will be upon you. Not now, but in the future. All will look back upon your actions now, and judge them. There will be many who will set their lives by your decisions. Decide what world you want to build, and stay with it. That is all I can say." He fell silent and nodded to Sheogorath, who grinned and pulled the once-emperor into a brief kiss.

"You have such a way with words, dear," the Altmer cooed before turning to the other dragonborn present. "Now, I think it's high time for you two to move on. Don't worry about dear Pelly, we'll clean up here."

Everything faded to grey again and Miraak and Hunseul found themselves standing in the abandoned wing once more, thankfully in their armor and not the casual clothes Sheogorath had forced them to wear.

Hunseul still looked somewhat off balance, staring out a window at the ground far below and prompting Miraak to ask, "Are you alright?"

Hun looked up at him, startled. "Yeah… No… I will be, I think." He shook himself. "I think I just need some time to process."

Miraak turned back the way they had come in. "Then let's go home. We have a few days before we need to leave again. We can… recover there."

-0-

Hunseul sighed as he looked over the pile of material he'd collected from the surrounding land—rocks from the mountain, wood from the somewhat distant forest, clay from the mire. Somehow, Miraak had managed to convince, or rather order, a dragon to play draft horse and help them drag felled trees over to their house. Normally, Hun might have simply gone to a mill, but Miraak had insisted on keeping their location a secret from as many people as possible. This way was much faster, anyhow; not needing to wait weeks for a team of burly Nords to float said lumber down the river and across the channel to the building site.

The past few days had been blessedly quiet, allowing Hun to gather his thoughts as he went through the mindless process of gathering building material in preparation of expanding their shack into a proper house with more rooms. It would be nice sleeping on a bed again, though he didn't doubt that Miraak would insist on separate rooms. Hun would miss being able to hear his partner at night, after he woke from yet another nightmare.

Hun sighed again. Maybe Vermina would leave him alone after Sheogorath talked to her. But maybe not. The other daedric princes were harder to predict than Sheo for him, as odd as that sounded, and he could never be entirely sure what they had planned at any one time. Oh sure, he knew what each of them wanted overall, but how they each planned on getting what they wanted was a complicated question to answer, involving factors not even he had knowledge of.

Miraak had been quiet too. While that might not be out of character for him, the little glances the other dragonborn kept tossing him when the Atmoran thought he wasn't looking were weirding him out a bit. They almost seemed… concerned? But that would be very out of character for him indeed.

Hun leaned back, considering what he needed to build. A great hall to link the future wings of the manor, with at least two bedrooms on the second level. A kitchen would be nice, but not necessary yet—they only had a few more days left before they needed to leave, and he'd have to gather even more materials if he wanted to build a wing. And a forge. They needed a forge. After all, they had gathered enough material to make their armor… It was too bad he couldn't use his building shout to make armor or weapons—he needed heat to transform material to equipment. He supposed he might be able to make a new shout explicitly for forging items, but he simply didn't have time to do that now. And there was something soothing about making something with his hands that he was loath to give up.

He liked putting the forge in the basement, with the fume hood hooking up to the fireplace chimney, allowing him to hide the entrance to a more sensitive area if he so wished. A bit of magic was always required to keep the enclosed space from turning into a furnace and the surrounding stone from cracking from the heat and moisture that seeped in from the ground. Fortunately, they were high enough on the hill that the water table was still below however large a basement he might want to build. In fact, it might even be low enough to allow him to build another, even more secret level below the first basement… Something to think about.

But first, he needed to make the great hall. He'd start with the first level. That would be similar enough to the previous houses he'd made that he could picture it very clearly—no need to break out the charcoal and sketch his ideas to form an image to hold in his mind…

"_Uth Gol Wahl_!" Hun shouted, going into a familiar trance as his Voice command the materials into forming what he wanted.

When he came out of his trance, it was to Miraak inspecting one of the new walls, running a gloved hand over the timber that was held in place by large wooden nails that would swell and merge with the planks over time, creating a strong bond. Hun would cast some magic over the structure once it was done to help it endure the elements and time, but for now, they would have to keep the weather clear.

After a moment, Miraak turned to him, a frown marring his unmasked face. "You've been quiet, these past few days. Are you alright?"

Hun blinked in surprise. "I—yeah, I'm fine. Are _you_ alright?"

Miraak raised an eyebrow, apparently unimpressed by his attempt at deflection. "I had only gotten used to your inane babbling before it stopped. Now the silence seems out of place."

Hun had to chuckle at the accusatory glare Miraak leveled at him. "Sorry. It's just a lot to take in. I've been repeating for so long… Even though I've been searching all this time for a way to stop it, some part of me got used to it, even accepting it. Now… I don't know. It's been part of me for so long, it's almost like losing a part of myself. Sure, not a good part of myself, but, well, there you go."

Miraak leaned against the wall and looked out to the horizon. "Despite your less than eloquent description, I do understand. I too recently lost a part of myself I'd rather be without." He glanced at Hun with a pointed look before returning his gaze to the far off ocean. "I do hope this doesn't change our plans."

Hun blinked. Was that what Miraak was concerned over? "No, of course not. We still have a world to conquer, after all." Apparently so, as the tension seemed to leak out of the other dragonborn's shoulders. "It'd be rather anticlimactic if we just went off seeking 'true Nordic deaths' or something. Besides," Hun sighed as he stepped over to Miraak, leaning against the wall next to him, "I'm dragonborn too, you know. I don't always act like it, but I feel that need to conquer, just as you do. I'm not going to let an opportunity as ripe as what we have go so easily."

Miraak shifted around to face him, a small smile gracing his features. "Good. I'd hate to have to abandon such a valuable resource so early in our quest."

Hun grinned. "I thought I was an inane babbler."

Miraak frowned, sighed a put-upon sigh. "That too. Unfortunately."

Hun laughed, standing up. "Come on, I need to sketch out the upper level to visualize it properly. You can help me figure out what kind of rooms we need."

Miraak hummed, pushing off the wall to follow Hun. "If I must."

-0-

Hunseul awoke to the rocking of a carriage beneath his feet and the sounds of hooves hitting cobbles and dirt crunching before a wheel. His eyes opened to the sight he'd been dreading, and felt all will leave him as he took in the familiar faces of Ralof, Ulfric, Lokir, and the other Stormcloaks who'd been captured.

Ralof spoke first, taking him in with kind eyes. "Hey you, you're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush same as us and that thief over there."

Lokir was next. "Damn you Stormcloaks... Skyrim was fine until you came along! Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you I'd have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." He turned to look at Hun. "You there, you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

Hun didn't hear the rest, nor did he try to speak. He could have escaped if he wanted, but what was the point? All his efforts were for not. Every time he even tried, he just ended up back here, at the beginning again.

The cart made its long journey into town, coming to stop at the bottom of the hill. Hun followed the other prisoners out of the cart and answered with his name when the captain asked, not noticing what race or gender he was this time, and observed quietly as one of the Stormcloak soldiers lost his head. Hun stepped up to the block when called and lay his head down.

The axeman swung.

"Hey you, you're finally awake."

Hun woke with a jerk, looking around frantically, but his surroundings were completely dark. The sounds of someone lightly panting and groaning hit his ears and he started, the past few weeks rushing back to him, and he slumped back onto his bed roll. The sounds of discomfort continued, and Hun realized Miraak must be having a nightmare too.

Hun sighed and rolling to a crouch and stood, remembering to use his race's magical night vision to aid in crossing the cluttered room. He'd be glad when they could spread the mess over a larger area, even if it meant giving up the small reassurance he got when waking from a nightmare to hear Miraak sleeping nearby.

The first dragonborn's face twisted in a snarl before going lax in despair before snarling again.

Hun whispered an '_alok_' and backed off, waiting for Miraak to wake before lighting the area, not wanting to be in the path if the Atmoran came to in a combative mood.

Miraak sat up swiftly, panting harshly and swinging his head around, trying to find any sort of light to tell him where he was.

"Hey Miri," Hun whispered from a slight distance away while casting a soft light, making the man jump and stare for a moment before his eyes closed again and he swept a hand over his face in a single, long stroke.

"Must you," he finally spoke with a tired voice, "with that infernal nickname?"

Hun hummed and went to crouch at the foot of Miraak's bedroll. "I don't think either of us are getting any more sleep tonight."

Miraak shook his head in agreement, heaving a sigh before standing.

Hun rose with him, brightening the light slowly by feeding more and more magicka into it. "I was thinking we could go over our plans for the house again." He paused for a moment, trying to read Miraak's sleep heavy face before proceeding cautiously. "I was thinking—given the positioning of the windows and the general layout, we might want to have more space for other things, which would mean giving up a bit of space elsewhere—"

"Hun," Miraak said tiredly, putting a stop to the rambling.

Hunseul sighed. "I was thinking we could just have the one bedroom for us. Two beds," he put in quickly, "but just one room."

Miraak stared at him for a long moment before speaking. "You've been trying to come up with an excuse to ask that for several days now, haven't you?"

Caught, Hun only nodded.

Miraak sighed. "Fine."

Hun almost asked if he was sure before stopping himself. "Umm, good. Good." He cast a glance around the room, trying to find something to break the awkward moment before his eyes landed on some fishing poles. "Hey, I think the sun's just about out. Perfect time to go fishing—our food stock's getting a bit low, and I'm getting tired of venison."

Miraak snorted, but seemed to greet the topic change with as much enthusiasm as he ever seemed capable of, and followed Hun out the door a few minutes later, into the dawning light of the cold Skyrim morning.

* * *

**If anyone is wondering where their relationship is going, I will refer you back to the note at the end of the first chapter and add neither Hun nor Miraak are the romantic types, and are far too concerned with their goals and their own personal traumas to deal with each other's. That said, they both have the very unique position of having lived very long, traumatic lives, with the only person ****possibly ****able to sympathize with them being the person they're working very closely with. So of course they're going to become very close. They're going to open up to each other (eventually), and they're going to help each other heal. I can understand how some might confuse that with romance, but it's really not the same thing.**

**This is the last chapter I have written. Any updates from now on will be sporadic as I am also working on several original projects, to which I must give priority.**


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